Soulmates, So To Speak
by Awkward Turtleduck
Summary: "It's not about who you are attracted to ultimately, it's about who you fall in love with." Brittany and Santana in four alternate worlds. Warning: genderswap, het pairings. Brettana, Brettiago, Brittiago, Brittana.
1. Sparkle-Snatcher

**Sparkle-Snatcher  
**_Bretton Pierce x Santana Lopez_

* * *

There were two things that Santana had learned early on were the guiding pillars of living in this world:

1. Being different is a tragedy.  
2. Power equals respect. Or fear, which is close enough. And respect, or fear, is what she must strive for to make up for her innate difference.

These two bits of knowledge were culled from her firsthand experience in the daycare, elementary school and the playground, from her hometown to Lima. She kept being picked on for being mixed race: for not being white (primarily) or black, or even just Hispanic, but for being a mix of the last two. It wasn't like she could help it; and frankly, there was no use railing against the world for her mixed heritage. But surely there were ways to be integrated in this admittedly shitty society she lived in, and this she found out one day when having enough of the jeers and teasing and hair-pulling, she snapped (to the everlasting dismay of her mother) and beat her fists against her tormentors, clawing their eyes out and kicking them until they cried. From that day on, nobody dared to make fun of her, and she even managed to get her own band of followers.

When high school came, she learned that the there are many ways of being different and that number one had to be revised. One could be different in a way that one couldn't help or change; this could be easily remedied by the number two. But one could also be different in a way that could be helped or changed; and if this was the case, one had to simply try to fit in.

After all, being different is a tragedy, but choosing to remain different is suicide.

**xxx**

At sixteen years of age, Santana Lopez had everything in her life in order: she was on the Cheerios (though only the second-in-command, because dammit, that bitch Quinn Fabray was really good… at scheming and holding on to power), she had been getting straight As (which wasn't really something she flaunted; being smart didn't exactly give you social points), she had the whole male population grovelling at her feet (except for that lumbering giant of a quarterback, Finn Hudson, who also happened to be Quinn Bitch's boyfriend), and she finally found the place where she could indulge in her real passion: singing (although she would rather choose death by purging via Coach Sylvester's Master Cleanse formula than admit she actually _liked_ being in Glee club).

Yes, Santana Lopez had it all.

Except maybe for one teeny tiny detail:

She didn't have a boyfriend.

It wasn't like it was compulsory that a girl should have a boyfriend in high school, but if said girl was as hot and popular as Santana, it sorta kinda made it necessary to have some guy to be branded as hers and hers alone. It just completed the picture of what high school life should be. It was like written in the bible or something.

She would honestly have let it slide if only Quinn Fabray didn't corner her by the lockers before first period that morning.

"Are you going to Scott's party later?"

Without even bothering to grace her with a glance, Santana replied, "Of course I am."

"Who are you going with?"

"None of your business."

Quinn slammed Santana's locker shut, making the latter jump back in surprise. "Who is it?"

"Geez, what's gotten your panties tied up in a bunch? Did your whale of a boyfriend finally squirted you with some of his blubber?"

"At least I _have_ a boyfriend. What do _you_ have?"

"Uh, the V-cards of like the whole football team?"

"You know that isn't worth anything. That just makes you a slut."

"Oh, like that's any worse than having a manatee parade around as your boyfriend." Santana yanked her locker open, almost hitting Quinn's nose in the process (goddammit, she should have yanked harder).

"You need to get yourself a boyfriend, Santana."

"What does it even matter to you anyway?"

"You are my second-in-command, and whether I like it or not, you and I rule this school. And as such, it is our duty to keep the image of the perfect high school students in order to keep the rest of the loser population in line."

As much as Santana wanted to bash Quinn's face in with her thick Algebra book, she couldn't help but think that what Quinn was saying made sense. Having a boyfriend, with the right social qualifications of course, increased one's social points, and made one seem in control of everything. Santana guessed it had something to do with the adolescent equivalent of the subconscious conformation to the all-American dream of having a husband and some brats—uh, kids, a dog and the white picket fence. Whatever. What really got to Santana was the extra social points she could gain.

After all, in high school, social points equal power.

And it wasn't like Santana lacked choices for a boyfriend. Like she said, she had claimed the V-cards of the football team, and surely one of them would be good enough. (Well fine, the quarterback would have given her the most points but ew, Finn Hudson? No way was Santana going near him with a ten-foot pole, even if he hadn't been already claimed by Quinn.)

She could take Puck. Puck was hot, even if Santana found his mohawk to be ridiculous at times. Or Mike Chang, who's kind of cute, though he wasn't so rough-and-tough like the rest of the team (yes, being _nice_ didn't seem to be an asset nowadays; some days it even seemed to be a setback—go figure). Maybe even Matt Rutherford, though he was kind of plain.

Anyway, Santana had the rest of the day to think about it.

"So?" Santana snapped out of her thoughts and back in the presence of Quinn Bitch Fabray and her perfectly arched eyebrow.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Fine, I get it. I'll bring someone later." Quinn's arched eyebrow still wasn't coming down. "I'll bring my _boyfriend_."

Satisfied, Quinn pivoted, her high pony whipping behind her.

'Whom I've yet to pick out,' Santana added sourly in her head.

**xxx**

By third period, Santana's mood hadn't improved by much. Apparently she got her notes mixed up, no thanks to the oh-so-wonderful Miss Fabray who had pestered her earlier, and so when she was called to read aloud her essay, she found it wasn't in her binder. Fortunately, she managed to bullshit her way out of it and emerged with her dignity intact. Still, it didn't stop her from muttering curses in Spanish, damning the Cheerio captain to the sweet accommodations of all nine circles of hell.

She stopped by her lockers again in order to get the notes she left behind. She had been too busy practicing her litany that she didn't notice somebody approaching her with bouncy steps.

"Hey San!"

At the sound of the chirpy voice that could only belong to one person, Santana found herself fighting back a smile as she turned. There standing by the locker was a tall handsome boy with short blond hair and eyes that put the bluest skies to shame. He was lean, all toned muscles, but even so, he moved with a grace that 99% of the male population in McKinley High lacked.

"Hey yourself," Santana said, pulling his uniform to straighten out some creases. "What's up?"

"Nothiiiiing. Just missed you." Santana felt her heartbeat quicken. "It really sucks that we only have two classes together. I don't get to see you as much."

Santana forced out a laugh as her hands still gripped the hem of Brett's uniform. She couldn't bring herself to let go yet. "You're only saying that 'cause I let you copy off me."

Brett struck his chest with his right hand and grimaced in mock pain. "You wound me, fair maiden. To accuse me of such niggardly act—ah, you do me wrong, you do me wrong."

Santana laughed for real this time as she playfully shoved Brett. "Stop it, you dork."

Brett caught her hands, stroking her fingers as he smiled. "It's true though, I missed you."

Warmth flooded Santana's chest and face. "I missed you, too," she mumbled almost inaudibly.

The smile on Brett's face widened. "What did you say?"

"I said nothing!" Santana could feel her face burning. God, why did he have this effect on her, reducing her to those stereotypical swooning maidens in the stories they took up in their English class.

"So how was History?"

"It was…" Brett shifted uneasily. Pink blotches started to appear on his neck and his cheeks.

"It was…?"

He laughed nervously. "The teacher asked me what event started the Civil War and… and…" He ducked his head and lowered his voice. "I said it was President Obama becoming president… and everybody started laughing." He squeezed her hands again. "I'm just… too dumb for school."

Santana furrowed her brows as the cogs in her brain started turning. "No, you're not. Old Hagberg and those nitwits, they're the ones who are too dumb to understand the connection between your answer and the question. The anti-slavery movement _was_ one of the reasons for the War. And because of that movement, African-Americans now have the same rights as the rest of the white people, and can now hold offices even as high as the Presidency. That's what you meant, right?"

Brett smiled bashfully. "Well… yeah, but I could never make it sound like it makes as much sense as how you just phrased it."

This time, it was Santana who squeezed his hands. "Don't say that. I probably would have given the book answer, which would have just been cut and dry. But the way you answer things, it opens up further discussions." She took a deep breath. "You're not dumb, Brett. You just know things that other people don't always understand."

A light gleamed behind Brett's eyes. "But you do."

Santana felt her whole body start to heat up. She coughed awkwardly. "Anyway, if it will make things easier for you next time, the book answer to the question is the fall of Fort Sumter."

"See? This is why I need you near me!"

"So you do admit it's only because of my brains that you want me!" Santana giggled.

"Well, I want your body, too." Brett wagged his eyebrows.

Santana laughed out loud to cover the blush on her cheeks. "Get out of here, we'll be late for our next class."

Brett leaned over and Santana felt her breath catch at the thought that he was going to kiss her. But he stopped himself and instead settled to giving her a one-armed hug. With one last smile, he turned to walk towards his next class. Santana couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and disappointment.

She let her eyes follow him until he disappeared around the corner.

In truth, Bretton Pierce would have been such a catch if only…

Just as she was about to turn towards her own class, she heard him shout out, "See you later at practice!"

…he wasn't in the Cheerios.

**oOo**

She had known Brett Pierce for half of her life.

She and Brett had always been inseparable ever since the Lopezes moved to Lima eight years ago. Brett was the first friend that Santana had ever made, and the best one she had so far. They climbed trees together, played pranks on other children together, ate meals at each other's houses, even slept over at times (though under keen parental supervision).

Things started to get weird when Santana noticed her body changing. It started with her thin bony frame suddenly softening into curves, and then the appearance of breasts and then that godawful first monthly bloody visit. Her mother told her that she should now be careful with hanging out with boys.

For a few months, Santana felt that she was the ugliest girl on the planet, and with this feeling came confusion. She had never really cared about being pretty or ugly before, so why did it bother her now? She went out less and less until her mother told her she couldn't go into hibernation during her puberty years. Santana still refused to budge until finally, that summer, the whole family went to Miami to visit their relatives. There, under Santana's older cousins' tutelage, she was walked through the art of cosmetics, of seduction and charm, of attracting the male species (and when Santana asked what for, her cousins clucked their tongues at her and said, "For power, _querida prima_; always remember, it's the women who truly rule the world") and keeping them in place.

Santana learned how to use her new womanly wiles.

When the family came back to Lima and the new schoolyear started, a new and different Santana strutted down the hallways of McKinley High.

"San?" called a deep but strangely familiar voice.

Santana hesitated, she didn't know anyone with a voice like that, but the shortening of her name could only mean that this person knew her well. She turned around to see who had called her.

She felt her jaw drop at the sight.

She hadn't seen Brett in a while since she was too busy hiding from the world, and somehow, she didn't imagine that he would undergo a transformation, like her. But dear god, transform he did.

Gone was the gangly boy with the messy blond hair and freckled face that she had known in her childhood, and instead there stood before her was a tall, lean young man (there was no way Santana could still call him a _boy_) who walked with a grace that put even the girls to shame. If Santana's sharp edges had filled out with curves, his had transformed into lithe limbs and toned muscles.

Brett Pierce had turned into one smoking hot piece.

Before Santana could gather his senses, Brett had enveloped her in a bear hug, which made her feel tingles all over her body, but mostly on those posts where her body touched Brett's.

"I knew it was you!"

As Santana opened her mouth to reply, only garbled noises came out so she wisely shut her mouth again. The tingles seemed to have travelled south, to the pit of her stomach. She became aware of the desire to press her body even closer to this young man who was her childhood friend. But at that same moment, Brett decided to push her back to examine her. His expression showed nothing but extreme happiness and Santana felt a twinge of guilt for feeling some not-so-innocent things for her friend.

"You've gotten even more beautiful!"

At these words, Santana could only blink and think, 'He thought I was beautiful before?'

Santana cleared her throat. "Uhm, yeah. You look great too."

Brett grinned. "Thanks! Oh have you signed up for any club yet?"

By this time, Santana still hadn't gotten her wits back together, so she just stared at her friend. Brett chuckled then taking her hand, he led her towards the bulletin board where sign-ups for different clubs and organizations were pinned up. Santana was only vaguely aware of this since her attention was riveted on Brett's hand on hers.

'Was his hand always this big?' she wondered. It felt so nice and comforting, and Santana felt that she wouldn't mind if he held her hand forever—

Wait just a minute. What was she even thinking? She shook her head and carefully wiggled her hand free. Brett turned to her with a pout, and once again, Santana found herself marvelling at this gorgeous being that her friend had become.

Was this because of those… hormones?

Fuck this shit, she would rise above them. She wouldn't let hormones get the best of her; she was Santana Lopez, and if there was one thing she was terribly proud of, it was her brain.

Santana fixed her attention to the board in front of her. All sorts of clubs and organizations seemed to be leaping out to get people to sign up for them. Actually, Santana didn't really have to think about which club she should be joining; her older cousins had advised her to make sure to join this particular team, or be resigned to eternal damnation at Loserville.

Her eyes found what she was looking for and she took the pen hanging by the side to sign her name on the sign-up sheet.

"Oh cool, you're trying out for the Cheerios, too?"

Santana's hand froze as she was spelling out her last name. A cough behind her made her finish scribbling her name before she turned to look at her friend.

"What do you mean 'too'?"

"I'm also joining the Cheerios!"

Santana's eyes widened as her jaw dropped for the second time that day. "You what?"

"Cheerios! You and I are gonna be teammates!"

"Wait, hold up. Why are you joining the Cheerios? Shouldn't you be trying out for the football team or something?"

Brett wrinkled up his nose. "Nah, they're too rough and violent. Besides, I don't think I can practice my dancing skills there. At least in the Cheerios, I'll be able to move more freely."

"But, Brett, think of the repercussions!"

"The drums? I can follow the beat pretty well—"

"No no! Male Cheerios don't get the same privilege as the female Cheerios. You could still get picked on! It's the football team that's at the top of the male pyramid in this school. You'll get a much better footing if you join that team."

Brett smiled. "I really appreciate your concern, San, but this is what I want to do." He offered his hand to her. "Besides, I'll get to be with you afterschool, too. It's like a win-win situation."

Santana opened her mouth to retort but couldn't bring herself to say anything other than a breathless "…yeah" as she took his hand.

They started walking down the hallway, their hands linked together, swaying with their every step.

"Cool! So wait, what's your class schedule? Surely we have some classes together, right? I'd hate to start high school without my best friend." Brett twisted his backpack so that he could access the pockets. He pulled out a rectangular sheet of paper and squinted. Santana loosened her grip on Brett's hand in order to get the paper but Brett refused to let go. So she settled to using her free hand instead.

"Here, let me have it." Santana looked over the schedule. "Hmm, it seems like we have everything together."

"Oh yeah!" Brett pumped his free fist in the air. "So hey, where have you been this summer? You just disappeared after the last day of classes. I came over to your place a couple of times but Mrs. Lopez said that you were not seeing anyone. I tried sneaking in once or twice but I couldn't make it past the backyard… doorknobs confuse me. And the third time, I almost got hosed down by this really huge guy who looked like a giant grizzly bear, although definitely less adorable, and as it turned out I was sneaking in on the wrong house. And then my grandma invited us to take a vacation back at Virginia so I didn't get to try again. So what did you do this summer?"

Santana felt more than a little embarrassed at her self-imposed exile due to puberty freak-out, when Brett, on the other hand, obviously didn't have that. It was like he breezed through the awkward stage with the same grace as when he danced. Santana found herself mumbling, "We went over to my cousins at Miami."

"Wow! That's amazing! I heard there are a lot of nice eating places in Miami! Did you get to see the Atlantic? How long did you stay there?"

"Yeah, three weeks."

Brett nudged his shoulder against hers until she looked at him. "Did you have fun?"

"Not so much…"

"Why? Wasn't Miami a great place to be in?"

"I don't know," Santana shrugged. "I guess it partly sucked because you weren't there."

"Oh."

It sounded too soft that Santana had to look at him. Brett's cheeks and the tips of his ears were turning pink. When he noticed her looking at him, he cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out.

"Brett?"

"Uhm… yeah… here we are, English!"

Santana looked around and saw that they were outside a classroom, and checking their schedules again, she realized that it was indeed the room for their English class.

Brett squeezed her hand. "I've got a feeling that this year's gonna be awesome."

**xxx**

"So who are you bringing later?"

Santana snapped up from her staring match with the orange in front of her to Quinn Fabray's hazel green eyes. It was lunchtime and as usual, all the Cheerios were sitting on the popular kids' table at the cafeteria. And, as usual, their table was bare save for an occasional fruit here and there, and the red bottles filled with Coach Sylvester's Master Cleanse.

"Someone hotter than the lumbering pasty-white giant that you drag around."

"And who would that be?" Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Puck?"

"Really, Q, your obsession with my love life is reaching stalker-level of crazy."

"You do realize that to preserve the sanctity of the squad's reputation, I have to enforce quality control. Just make sure you don't grab some random loser as your date."

Santana rolled her eyes as she scoffed. "As if. Please, I have practically every guy in this school grovelling at my feet." At the disbelieving look in Quinn's face, Santana added. "And FYI, the only reason that it's taking me this long to pick one out is that they are all beneath my standards."

"Well your standards seemed to have taken a vacation when you slept with those boys," said Quinn dryly.

"Sex is _not_ dating. Duh. And like you said, quality control. If anyone's going to be my boyfriend, he has to be someone I can be proud of." Santana began rolling the orange in her hands. "Which is not something I can say if I were you."

Quinn raised her brow at that. "Then I'm really looking forward to meet your boyfriend later."

Santana caught the challenge behind her statement, and it made her want to crush the orange against those irritating green eyes until she went blind.

"Just… don't spray on him."

**xxx**

Santana purposely avoided any opportunity to be alone with Quinn during and after the Cheerios practice. She was loathe to admit it but she still haven't decided on anyone. The top three names that played in her head were Puck, Mike and Matt. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to inform them of the honor she was bestowing upon their poor, pathetic lives. It just felt so wrong.

But she couldn't possibly go to the party without anyone. That would give that smug little bitch of a captain the satisfaction of being proven right and of being again a step above Santana. There was no way in hell she was going to let that happen. Besides, the fact that Quinn talked about it during lunch in front of the other Cheerios had sealed Santana's fate. The whole squad now knew what Quinn was asking of her, and if she failed to deliver, she would be subject to the talks behind her back, probably on how she was too much of a slut to get a guy to agree to be hers.

And if there was one thing that Santana Lopez hated the most, it was the judgment being passed on her character through the talks and the looks. The only label she willingly wore was 'bitch'; anything else cut her.

But of course she would never ever let anyone know that.

She had been so caught up with her dilemma that she missed the looks that Brett had been shooting her throughout practice. She purposely took her time at the showers so that when she got out, everybody else had gone home.

She had been thinking that maybe she should just skip the party altogether. Pretend she got sick or something. But no, that excuse was too flimsy, and it would still smack of failure.

She sighed as she pulled on her jeans and a plain white shirt. This was actually her favourite outfit, simple and clean. And if she had her way, this was what she would be wearing every day. But alas, the price of power. Not that she minded wearing the Cheerios uniform too much. She knew she looked hot in it.

She would just change into another outfit when she got home. But for now, she could be simply Santana.

As she was leaving the changing room, she pulled her backpack to her front to double-check if she had everything. She was busy counting the folders that she almost ran into the lockers. Luckily a hand reached out and grabbed her by the crook of her elbow before she acquainted her face with metal.

Santana let out a little shriek, her body going into fight-or-flight.

A bright airy laugh greeted her. "Relax, San, it's just me."

"Holy crap, Brett! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Brett only laughed again. "Well, you should have been paying attention to where you were going."

Santana couldn't help but notice that Brett was freshly showered himself, his blond hair darker than usual and slightly more messy. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans. It was kind of amazing that even in such a simple outfit, he still managed to look like a model.

"Hey, San."

Santana snapped out of her leering, embarrassed at being caught. "Yeah?" she managed to croak out.

"I like the way you look right now." He gave her a once-over, which had it been anybody else, Santana would have cut them up. But from him, it just made her feel more self-conscious. He smiled, seemingly unaware of his effect on her. "The only thing lacking is your glasses."

Santana furrowed her brows. "Really?"

"Yeah. I've always thought you look hot with your glasses on," he replied nonchalantly as they started walking towards the exit. "You're, like, a super hot female version of Clark Kent."

Santana couldn't think of anything to say to that so they walked in silence until they reached the parking lot.

"Do you want to go grab some ice cream and watch the ducks?" Brett asked as they reached her car.

"I'd love to but I've gotta get ready for Scott's party and all."

"But we can always go there later, right?"

Santana stared dumbly at her friend, the word 'we' echoing in her head. She forced herself back to the present before her mind wandered again. She ran her hand through her still-wet hair. "It's just that there's something I have to fix first before the party, no thanks to Quinn."

"Is it a wardrobe problem or a problem-problem?"

A smile found its way on Santana's lips, the first since lunchtime. It was kind of alarming that the times that she smiled that day, and for the days past, were all because of Brett. But Santana wouldn't let herself dwell on that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"A problem-problem."

"Then why don't we go grab some ice cream and watch the ducks and solve your problem-problem together?"

Santana stood rooted to the spot as she felt something warm in her chest slowly spread out to her entire body. She became aware of nothing else but how much she wanted to kiss this person in front of her.

And she would have, if only she hadn't drilled her body to resist any such attempts on her best friend.

So instead, she settled for a hug, wrapping her arms around his torso. Her ear was pressed against his chest and she could hear the steady beating of his heart. It was so comforting to be there, close to him, his arms around her. Suddenly it struck Santana that this was what _home_ felt like. And with that realization, she pulled back, a little too sharply, which she tried to cover with a laugh. Brett's expression was part-confused and part-unreadable. Again, Santana chose not to think about it too much.

"Let's go get our ice cream then."

Brett grinned at that and before he headed to his own car, he pressed a soft kiss against Santana's forehead. Before Santana could react, he had already gone and boarded his car. She touched the spot on her forehead carefully, as if afraid that her touch would wipe away the sensation of his lips on her skin. She screwed her eyes shut as she berated herself again. What the hell was her problem? Why should these simple, chaste touches bother her so when they had done even more intimate 'stuff' than that?

She slid into her car and turned on the engine. She banged her fists against the driving wheel as she tried to recall all the reasons why she had purposely kept Brett away from her radar of potential conquests.

**oOo**

Since high school started, she and Brett hung out together once again, although much less frequent now than before that awkward summer. It really couldn't be helped since Santana needed to bond with the other Cheerio girls in order to really belong. Brett didn't take it badly; with his easygoing nature, he soon found his own circle of friends.

But even so, both of them always made a point to spend time together, watching movies or just chilling out by the pond (Santana would have preferred to chill at her house or Brett's but she knew that it wouldn't really sit well with either set of parents, even if she and Brett were _just friends_; somehow, in the eyes of parents, adolescent boys and girls can't be _just friends_ with each other). It was partly out of sentimentality and old childhood loyalty why they refused to let their friendship die out like so many childhood friendships, particularly those of opposite genders. Just because their bodies began changing, it didn't mean that they, as people, have changed as well.

She was still Santana, the bitchy-on-the-outside-but-nerdy-on-the-inside girl; and he was still Brett, the sweet, kind, gentle and graceful dancing boy.

But to be honest, for Santana at least, she couldn't help but feel the pull towards Brett, especially now that he had gotten so goddamn attractive. She was human after all, and for heaven's sake, she was undergoing puberty and her hormones were all over the place.

To Santana's credit, she kept a level head at of these friendly dates. She was learning the ropes of flirting but not once did she ever used them on Brett. Uhm. Fine. Well, maybe she did. Once. Or twice. Or thrice.

All of which seemed to have no effect on Brett. And that puzzled Santana, since when she tried that on other boys, they worked like a charm. She thought that maybe Brett was just special. Or they had effectively friendzoned each other—though it was more like _she_ had been effectively friendzoned.

(Or, and this was a possibility that Santana didn't exactly prefer, she just had no game when it comes to Brett.)

Brett, though he didn't exactly have the prized position in the social hierarchy of McKinley High, still enjoyed the attentions of most of the female population at the school. And elsewhere too, honestly. And somehow, Santana got the vibe that maybe it wasn't just the female population who was attracted to Brett; every sentient creature seemed to be as well. He was like overflowing with pheromones or something.

Fine, girls would gawk at him and would try to drape themselves all over him. But some boys would even follow him with their eyes, and this wasn't just the flaming gays—though honestly, there seemed to be only one flaming gay in Lima and that was Lady Hummel—but seemingly straight, tough-looking guys. Hell, even dogs and cats and ducks approach Brett readily.

Bretton Pierce was simply… magical.

This was actually one of the initial reasons why Santana didn't overtly flirt with him. Even though she knew she was also pretty hot, somehow she felt that she couldn't match up to her friend.

It would seem like they would keep their old relationship well on to their teenage years and maybe on to their adult lives and old age.

Until that weekend when Santana's parents had to leave town for a medical conference (slash honeymoon).

Thanks to Santana's perfect scholastic record and clean track record, she was allowed to stay at home alone, instead of being sent to one of their relatives' house to be looked after.

This was Santana's first taste of freedom, and who better to celebrate it with than her best friend?

(Or so she told herself. She knew that it was still kind of dangerous to be alone with a guy for a night, even if that guy was Brett. 'But to hell with that,' Santana thought. 'I wouldn't want to spend my first night with the whole house at my disposal alone or gossiping—no, learning about school social matters with the girls.')

So that was how Santana and Brett found themselves alone at the Lopez house that Friday afternoon.

They started with a movie, _Up_, the first sequence of which never failed to make Santana's eyes fill up with tears. And then they burned through _Tangled_ and _Shrek 2_ before they decided they were hungry.

"Do you want to eat out or order in?" Santana asked, sprawled on the couch.

Brett, who had made himself comfortable at the floor surrounded by throw pillows, raised himself up to face Santana. "I was thinking of cooking something instead. Is your pantry stocked?"

Santana's raised her eyebrows. "Yeah I guess so. Mami always makes sure that we never ever go hungry. But why do you want to cook?"

A lopsided smile appeared on Brett's face. "I just want to… since we're celebrating freedom, right? And besides, I'm a show-off."

Santana laughed at that. She sat up and stretched her arms before getting to her feet. "Well come on then, Master Chef. Impress me."

"Oh I will," said Brett, following her to the kitchen.

Two hours later, Santana and Brett sat themselves at the dining table, with a plateful of mac-'n-cheese between them.

Silence enveloped the room as Brett hung his head and steadfastly refused to meet Santana's eyes. Santana, on the other hand, couldn't wipe that amused grin off her face.

"Come on, Brett, it's all right."

"No, it isn't."

"We managed to put out the fire, didn't we?"

"But I made such a mess and wasted all those ingredients."

"Which we both managed to clean up. And as for the ingredients, I doubt my mom would even notice." (Well actually Maribel Lopez would, but hey, Santana was trying to cheer her friend up. White lies were excusable.)

When Brett still refused to lift his face, Santana kicked him hard in the shin under the table.

"Ow!"

The confused and hurt look on Brett's face reminded Santana of a puppy. Before she could stop herself, she said, "Awww."

And when Brett unwittingly cocked his head to the side, Santana just had to lean over the table to pat him on the head. But as she was withdrawing her hand, she suddenly found herself unable to control her movements. Her hand slid down from Brett's soft blond hair to his cheek. Before Santana could be embarrassed about it, Brett leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

They stayed that way for a few seconds before reality made its rude reintroduction in the form of the rumble of a passing car on the street outside. Santana withdrew her hand, not without regret, and Brett just smiled, like her touching his face was a normal, everyday occurrence.

They started eating their dinner in silence. Which felt awkward for Santana, but which Brett didn't seem to mind. After dinner, Brett offered to wash the dishes, to make up for the mess he made earlier. Santana let him though she sat herself at the counter, her legs swinging.

She watched the muscles on Brett's shoulders and back ripple with every movement he made. She wanted to touch them, feel the strength that was so obviously there. She wondered how his skin would feel like under her fingers, warm and firm—

"San?"

Santana's head snapped up and realized that while she had been off daydreaming, Brett had finished washing the dishes. She felt her face heating up as she leapt out of the counter. She coughed into her hand to clear her head. "So, what do you want to do now?"

A playful twinkle appeared in Brett's eyes as his broke into a sly smile. "Well, I found some wine in the cabinet, and you did say we were celebrating freedom, and celebrations usually involve drinking wine, so…"

Santana couldn't fight the smile appearing on her face as well. "Why, Bretton Pierce, are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Only if you're a lightweight on alcohol, which by the way I didn't think you were."

"I'm not!" Santana huffed but Brett only raised his eyebrows. "I'm not," she insisted as she playfully punched him on the arm. "Shut up!"

"It's all right if you are, San. I'll take care of you."

That made Santana hold her breath. But she reminded herself that that was what friends do. Friends. Just friends.

"One of the girls snuck in some liquor at a sleepover a few weeks ago, and I'm proud to say that I was the last one standing."

Brett lifted up his arms in mock surrender. "Okay, San. I believe you."

Santana narrowed her eyes at him. "I hate you."

"You don't. Or you wouldn't have invited me." Then with a smile, he added. "You love me."

Santana's throat suddenly felt too dry as she found herself unable to say anything. A tense few seconds ticked by, during which Brett's playful expression had turned a shade more serious. But Santana managed to let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Pierce."

Brett's smile dimmed a little. "So let's get this party started, yeah? I'll grab the wine and glasses."

"Okay, I'll prep up the living room." Santana darted out of the kitchen with a speed that would have given Speedy Gonzales a run for his (or was it her? it?—did it even freaking matter?!) money.

Prepping up the living room was basically Santana rearranging the throw pillows on the floor. And as Brett entered with the bottle of wine and two wine glass, he arched his eyebrow as if to ask her, 'That's it?'

Santana felt her face flush. "Well, what was I supposed to do? Light some candles?"

"That actually sounds like a good idea!" Brett set down the things on the table before going back to the kitchen. He returned after a minute with some candles and a lighter. Santana just watched dumbly as he carefully set up the candles on the table before lighting them. Then he went over to the wall to turn off the lights so only orange light bathed the room. Brett proceeded to open the bottle and pour the red wine into the glasses before settling down on the floor beside her.

Santana could feel her heart beating faster and faster until she was sure it was going to leap out of her chest. She accepted the proffered wine glass with slightly trembling hands, and to still her nerves, she downed it in one single gulp.

Brett looked at her in surprise. "Wow, we haven't even made a toast yet!"

Heat bloomed in Santana's cheeks though she wasn't sure if it was because of the wine or embarrassment. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"S'okay." Brett poured her some wine. "I don't really know how this works but…" he lifted his wine glass, which Santana mirrored. "To freedom!"

"To freedom," Santana repeated as their glasses clinked together. This time, Santana just took a little sip. She couldn't help but think how handsome Brett looked in the candlelight, with the shadows flickering across his face. Well he was also handsome in any other light, but this time, something seemed to have been added. Santana gasped as realization struck her.

Candlelight made everything look more romantic.

But before Santana could explode in full panic, Brett spoke. "Did you know that dolphins are just gay sharks?"

"What?"

And Brett went on to explain the differences and similarities on the physical anatomy of dolphins and sharks, which quickly jumped to the subject of _The Little Mermaid_ and then the lost city of Atlantis. Despite the fact that most times, Santana couldn't get a good grasp of her friend's ramblings, she nevertheless listened attentively. For somehow, she could get glimpses of the world that Brett sees around him and Santana had a feeling that this world was so much better, and something she wouldn't mind being a part of.

It took a while before Santana noticed that the Brett had stopped talking. She had been too busy staring at his lips for the past few minutes, wondering how they would feel like against—

"Have you kissed anyone yet, San?"

Santana blinked. "What?"

Brett repeated the question, albeit more softly.

As the question registered in her brain, heat spread throughout Santana's face like wildfire. She ducked her face. She really hated to admit it but she hadn't kissed anyone yet. Which wasn't a big deal yet, considering more than half of the fresh recruits on the Cheerios haven't had theirs. But Santana wasn't a fool and she knew that it was only a matters of weeks, even days, before she made her foray into the flirting field in order to up her reputation.

She bit her bottom lip. It wasn't like she didn't have a gameplan of sorts. Even though she was fresh blood, she had already caught the attentions of certain football players, and honestly, she was just biding her time. She didn't want to seem too easy.

Or too inexperienced.

"San?" Brett reached out to touch her arm when she remained silent.

Santana opened her mouth to say, 'Duh! Of course I have!' but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she mumbled, "Not yet."

She waited for him to laugh or to squeeze her arm pityingly. And she immediately regretted saying the truth. She covered her face with her hand as she felt tears of shame stinging her eyes.

"Can I be your first kiss?" she heard Brett ask quietly.

Santana's head jerked up. "W-What?"

She saw him swallow before answering. "I… I really want to kiss you." His eyes flickered to her lips before going back to her eyes. "Can I?"

Santana's heart started hammering wildly inside her chest and she could hear blood pounding in her ears. Her palms were sweaty and she was acutely aware of how carelessly dressed she was right now, in her plain shirt and track pants. This was definitely not how she imagined herself to look like when she had her first kiss. Of course she didn't have the illusion that it would be as glamorous and picturesque as those in chick flicks, what with fireworks in the background or maybe in the middle of the football field, and her leg popping. Just that she would look hot and whoever it was she was kissing looked hot.

Well, she at least had the last part right.

But really, she couldn't be bothered by such insignificant details when her body was screaming 'Yes! Yes! For the love of god, yes!' and maybe it was also because of the wine. She nodded dumbly.

A soft smile crept up Brett's face before he leaned towards her, stopping short just a few centimetres from her. Santana, who had closed her eyes when she saw him come nearer, opened them when she felt no contact. She saw Brett looking at her with his half-closed eyes, seemingly waiting for her, with bated breath. And it struck Santana that he was waiting for _her_ to close the distance herself.

Which she did in a heartbeat.

Brett's lips were softer than she had expected, and gentler too. Somehow Santana had gotten the impression that guys' kisses were hard and rough, territorial and boasting of masculine superiority. (Yes, she definitely didn't buy into those chick flick bullshit.) But this wasn't like that, with the way Brett was kissing her, his lips sliding and shifting as he sucked her bottom lip, and then drawing back a little so that it seemed like he was about to pull away only to lean in again, with a little more intensity.

And all too soon, Brett drew back completely, slightly breathless and with his face flushed. He lowered his eyes for a moment before shyly meeting hers once again. "Was that all right?"

Santana, her mouth still slightly open, just stared at him. It was… it was… actually, she didn't know how it was. Her mind had blanked out and when she was staring to get into the groove, the kiss had ended. And so she said, "That wasn't a kiss."

Brett turned redder than she had ever seen him. He ducked his head as he stammered, "I-I… I'm sorry… that was really stupid of me, asking you that… w-when I-I haven't even done that yet myself…"

"You haven't kissed anyone before?"

"Yeah, I haven't," he mumbled as he started fiddling with the neck of the wine glass to distract himself.

A happy, giddy feeling filled Santana's heart at those words and with it, a courage that had been markedly absent whenever she was with Brett. Brett, who was too busy wallowing in embarrassment, failed to notice that Santana had gotten up to her knees and was now leaning towards him. It wasn't until she was only mere inches away did he look up. He nearly snapped the neck of the glass in half.

"W-What—"

"I'm going to kiss you now… properly," she whispered and that was all the warning that she gave him before she pressed her lips against his. Armed with the knowledge that he wanted this and that this was his first time too, Santana moved with a measure of confidence. She opened her mouth and tried what Brett did earlier, swallowing his bottom lip with hers. Her left hand travelled to the back of his head, urging him closer to her, while her other hand rested on top of his thigh. Taking the hint, Brett put his arms around her waist while deepening the kiss at the same time. A moan escaped from Santana's lips, which made Brett smile. He ran his hands on her back, tracing her spine and the contours of her muscles.

The only thought that registered in Santana's mind was 'more more more.' But she could feel her lungs burning for air and she reluctantly pulled back to breathe. She didn't get far before she felt Brett's tongue caress her lower lip, which she nipped playfully. She kissed him again and this time she pushed _her_ tongue into his mouth. In retaliation, he sucked on it until Santana could feel heat pooling at the pit of her stomach.

She became aware of a desire to rock her hips against him, to have his hands all over her body, holding her, caressing her… She wanted to take this further.

She took the hands from her back and put them in her chest. Brett didn't need any more prodding as he gently squeezed her breasts before one of his hand travelled to her waist while the other continued palming her right breast. Santana moaned at the sensation and she put both hands at the back of Brett's neck as she laid herself on the floor. Brett started to follow but just as Santana's back touched the floor, he pulled back.

Santana opened her eyes as he withdrew his hands. He was panting heavily and his eyes were the darkest she had ever seen them.

"What's the matter?"

Brett didn't speak, as he tried to get his breathing under control. He sat himself down again and closed his eyes.

Slowly, Santana regained her self-control and the sudden realization of her conduct, of how she had thrown herself so readily at her best friend, made her stomach churn and her face burn. She covered her face with her hands as she muttered, "Shit shit shit!"

"Santana…"

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, Brett." She swallowed the lump that had been forming in her throat. "I don't know what came over me, I… this… this, it must have been the wine and maybe you're right, I am a lightweight and I'm really sorry—"

Hands wrapped themselves around her wrists, making her look up. Brett's face was unreadable, and the fear and panic inside Santana's chest increased.

"I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not sorry… and I hope you aren't really sorry." Brett quirked his mouth into a small smile. "It felt really good, one of the best feelings I've ever had, I think. You're a pretty good kisser. So I hope you're not sorry." He lowered his eyes as he pulled her hands between them. He started rubbing circle on her knuckles.

Santana gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She shook her head in disbelief.

"I'm not really sorry… and you're a great kisser, too."

A light gleamed behind Brett's eyes as he looked up. His smile widened into a grin. "I know."

Remembering the sounds that had escaped her mouth earlier, Santana felt her face heating up again. She threw a pillow at him. "Shut up!"

Brett just laughed as he ducked.

They sat together in silence for a while, enjoying the moment, saving the questions for later. Well, that was what Santana had planned, but Brett, who had been staring at the wine bottle, spoke up.

"What does this make us now?"

Santana stiffened. The fear and panic that she had been feeling earlier returned, though now for an entirely different reason. She was acutely aware of the possibility of a dramatic shift in their relationship, from one that had always been sure and stable to one that was as tenuous as a spider's web, a change that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to happen. No, not when the stakes were too high. And so, as if her self-preservation instincts kicked in, Santana found herself saying, "We're friends, we'll always be friends."

Brett's shoulders slumped a little. "But… earlier, what we did… what did it mean?"

"It didn't have to mean anything." As she said this, Santana could almost taste the bitterness of the lie in her tongue.

Brett took a deep searching look in her eyes. His expression was once again unreadable. After a while, he furrowed his brows and said nothing.

**xxx**

"Your ice cream's melting."

Santana snapped out of her reverie and first saw then felt her chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream starting to drip on her fingers. She hastily licked the sticky-sweet trickles before they fell on her pants. She heard Brett splutter and she turned to see his red face and his mouth smeared with what was once his strawberry-with-marshmallow-and-candy-sprinkles ice cream.

Santana stared before she burst out laughing. "What the hell happened?"

Brett's already red face turned even redder as he fumbled for his handkerchief in his jeans pocket. But Santana was quicker and soon she was at his side, dabbing her handkerchief on the sides of his mouth. "You are such a kid sometimes."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Santana stilled her hand for a moment and tried to figure out if he was flirting with her. But there was just a simple curiosity and a slight hint of embarrassment in those blue eyes. She shook her head. "No, not really… it's what I lo—like about you." She took a step back. "There, your face is clean." Then with a saucy grin, she added, "And, _your_ ice cream's melting."

But Brett just looked at her, ignoring the pink trickling down his fingers. Santana noticed that his eyes were fixed on her lips, which she instinctively licked. She saw him gulp before clearing his throat. When his eyes met hers, he blushed, then turned to whatever was left with his ice cream. He pouted when he realized that it was nearly all gone. Warmth surged in Santana's chest and she handed him her handkerchief. "Clean yourself up, then let's go buy ourselves another one," she said, smiling. Brett nodded as he took the handkerchief and wiped his hand with it.

They had been standing outside of the ice cream parlor the entire time, in no small part because of Santana getting lost in her thoughts. So when Brett was done cleaning up, they both tossed the sorry remnants of their ice cream to the trash before heading back inside. Santana switched to mud pie while Brett opted to try out one of the artisan flavors, Once in a Blue Moon. Santana wanted to pay for both of their ice cream, (which, by the way, made her go _dafuq?!_ for a second since Santana Lopez was used to being showered with gifts instead of the other way around, but whatever; Brett was different) but Brett beat her to it with a triumphant grin. Santana just rolled her eyes as she fought back a smile.

As they were walking towards the pond to duck-watch, Brett spoke.

"So what's in the hat?"

Santana kept her eyes on the path. "It's nothing… just some stupid popular girl thing."

"I don't believe you. If it's nothing, it wouldn't have bothered you all throughout practice." He paused, as if trying to figure out how to say his next words. "But there's something that is bothering me."

Glad for any excuse to delay laying out her dilemma, Santana asked encouragingly, "What is it?"

"It's just that… it seems like you're quite aware how trivial all these being popular stuff really is, and yet… you're still doing it. Why?"

Santana stopped walking. Her eyebrows crinkled as she considered his words. To be honest, there have always been nights when she would lie awake on her bed and wonder why she was clawing her way up the social ladder. Would it guarantee her a place in the world after high school? Would being a cheerleader, a popular girl, ensure her happiness in the future? But always, she managed to shove these questions to the black depths of her mind with the memory of shame, of being an outcast, of being not wanted. And this memory, which she had not shared to anybody but her Mami, found its way to her lips.

"I don't want to be that 'strange girl' ever again." Stated so baldly, Santana winced as she thought how silly it sounded. Maybe that was why she never said it out loud to anyone else; things always seemed to make much more sense, to carry a much heavier weight when kept to oneself.

"What do you mean, San?"

Santana started walking again and Brett kept up with her pace. They walked by the edge of the pond, settling down on one of the log seats. She let a few minutes trickle by, keeping her eyes on the ducks floating around on the placid water. All the ducks on the pond looked so similar to each other, and that thought made Santana inhale sharply.

"Do you remember when we moved here?" she began softly, still not looking at Brett. "Those days at the playground when nobody wanted to play with me? When those dickheads would push me around and make fun of me for being new, but mostly for being of mixed race? That kind of treatment was something I've been exposed to ever since I could remember. I've… always wanted to belong, Brett. I've been an outsider all my life. This popularity shit? Yes, it is silly, it is stupid, but so is this world we live in, and if to belong to this world meant that I have to subscribe to its idiotic rules, then I will."

Silence enveloped them, broken only by the quacking of the ducks. Then Brett said in an equally soft voice. "So it's because you're lonely."

Santana let out a deep breath. "Yeah."

"Oh."

That one word sounded so sad and hurt that Santana turned to look at her friend. His head was bowed, his brows furrowed and his mouth was turned down. She nudged her shoulder with his. "Hey, what're you thinking?"

Brett bit his lip. "I'm just a sad little panda that you've been feeling this way all this time… and a sadder panda still that I wasn't able to do anything about it." He looked at her, his blue eyes wide, so open and sincere that Santana could almost drown in their comforting depths.

She shook her head with a smile. "No, Brett, you've kept this feeling of loneliness at bay… it's only with you that I've ever felt happy. You're that one person who made me feel that I belong."

The corners of Brett's mouth quirked up. "It's because I've felt that I don't belong, too; you know I'm not the brightest bulb in the Christmas lights around the tree."

"But, you always manage to get into certain circles, and surround yourself with friends."

"None of them keep me because they like my company," Brett replied simply. Santana waited for him to explain but he didn't. Instead, he said after a while, "I sort of get it now. We are alike… even in our ways of coping."

Santana furrowed her brows. She couldn't think of anything at all that she had in common with Brett. But she didn't say anything, offering her pinkie instead, which Brett linked with his. Ever since Santana had silently imposed the boundaries between them, there had been a number of things that she had steadfastly stopped doing with her friend—holding hands while walking, for one. That seemed too lover-like, but neither could she completely resist the pull towards Brett, so they settled to a compromise, a less conspicuous and more innocent form of physical contact:

Pinkie-linking.

They continued sitting in silence, watching the ducks float around. There were only a few people in the park, and one couple were feeding the ducks. Santana's initial thought was a sour 'so _freaking_ charming' followed swiftly by a longing to be able to do that with the person beside her. She exhaled noisily to distract herself.

"So what did Quinn ask you to do?"

Santana felt her face heating up and something prickling at the back of her neck. "She… uh… told me to get a boyfriend."

Without missing a beat, Brett said, "I could be your boyfriend."

Santana turned to him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Just leave it to Brett to get to the point, asking questions later, if he ever asked them at all.

"What?" she asked stupidly.

Seeing Santana's reaction, Brett lowered his eyes as the tips of his ears pinked. "I could be your boyfriend," he repeated, although now more of a mumble.

"But Brett, Cheerios pair up with footballers. That's how high school works."

And just leave it to Santana to take note of the practical things in turn.

She groaned inwardly at how insensitive she sounded. She opened her mouth to say something that would soften her words but couldn't think of anything. She waited for a painful moment for the look of hurt to flash in Brett's eyes. But to her surprise, it didn't come. Instead, a flash of understanding crossed his face.

A sly smile appeared on his lips. "Oh. Is that why you were trying to convince me to join the football team instead last year?"

Santana's eyes widened comically as she sputtered out, "W-What! N-No… I-I—"

Brett laughed. "I was just teasing."

Santana could feel her face burning as she shoved him. "Shut up."

"So anyway, I mean it. I could be your boyfriend. Even just for tonight." Then he added hastily, "Only if you want, of course."

Alarm bells were ringing inside Santana's head, and a voice that sounded strangely like Coach Sylvester on megaphone was yelling at her that she should say no, that this was a terrible terrible idea, that this would undermine all her efforts to keep Brett away and preserve their friendship.

But looking at those blue eyes, so artless and open, she couldn't bring herself to say anything but a soft "Okay."

**xxx**

The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived. The walls were reverberating with the pounding bass from the speakers, bodies grinding against each other, the whole place reeking of sweat, booze and mingled scent of perfumes and colognes, both cheap and expensive. The air was warm, with the number of people crammed inside the house.

Santana's nose wrinkled in distaste as she and Brett passed through the hallway, which was littered with bodies in various states of drunkenness and/or undress. She had never understood the appeal of parties when sober, which was the reason why she always made it a point to get plastered within five minutes of arriving.

And as if reading her mind, Brett said, "I'll go get us drinks."

Before she could even nod, he had disappeared in the throng of people. Santana looked around and saw familiar faces… well, as familiar as they could get in their inebriated state. She should probably be looking for Quinn and show her that she had met the challenge, but her doubts and fears , which were temporarily dispelled by Brett's presence, now came back with a vengeance. She found herself a vacant spot on the wall to lean on as she tried to make a gameplan.

"Yo, Lopez!"

Puck's swaggering figure suddenly appeared on her right. He was wearing that sexy smirk and his eyes were already glazed. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close to him, so close that she could feel his hot breath on her face. "Almost thought you weren't coming." He nuzzled her neck. "What d'you say we find a room, huh?"

Santana shoved him roughly off of her. "Ugh, get away from me, Puckerman." She rubbed the side of her neck where his face had been, trying to remove the disgusting sensation.

But Puck only grinned. "This is what I like about you, Lopez… always so feisty." He put his hands on her ass, tugging her towards him until she could feel his hard-on through his pants.

"You better get away from me," Santana growled, "before I crack your nuts."

Sensing that she was serious, Puck let go of her, frowning. "Geez, who set your panties on fire? Are you on your period or something?"

"More like tired of your small dick."

Puck opened his mouth to retort but a hand grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around. "Wha—"

"Hey, Puck," said Brett coolly, his face set and unreadable.

Puck's shoulders tensed. "Twinkle-Toes."

"I believe you're needed elsewhere."

Puck let out a mocking laugh as he shrugged off Brett's hand. "Where, in your pants? Not a chance in hell, fairy boy."

Santana felt her blood rushing to her head at those words and she yanked a fistful of Puck's shirt to make him turn to her again, and in one swift motion she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. Puck howled in pain as he crumpled to the floor. A small crowd was starting to gather around them, so Santana grabbed Brett's wrist and dragged him away from the scene.

She led him to the kitchen, which was empty save for a couple making out like there was no tomorrow. Santana closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief as she let go of Brett.

"You…"

Santana opened her eyes and saw Brett with his head down.

"You," he continued, still not looking at her. "…didn't have to do that."

Santana frowned. "He was insulting you, Brett."

"Yeah, but I'm used to it and—"

"No." Santana stepped closer to him until he was forced to meet her eyes. "You will not be insulted in front of me. Or ever. Not while I'm around to kick their ass."

Brett's eyes softened. "More like their nuts."

Santana burst out laughing, which Brett joined in.

"Here." Brett lifted the bottles of beer he was carrying. He handed one to Santana.

"Thanks."

Santana was content to just stay here in the cramped kitchen, taking her time drinking, which was a first—it has been like, half-an-hour already and her head was still clear. Now that she thought about it, she had never gone to parties with Brett before; it was always with other Cheerio girls. Of course, Brett also went to these parties, so when Santana spotted him, she would go over and chat a bit, dance a bit—and go fuck Puck or whoever when the combined effects of alcohol and repressed desire became too much to take.

But to just be with Brett for more than ten minutes at a party, well, that was something new.

And frankly, it was… nice.

Santana noticed Brett was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his head bobbing to the rhythm of the music blaring around them.

"You know you could always just go over there and dance. I won't ever stop you."

Brett grinned sheepishly. "I know. But, I want to dance with you."

"You could have just asked." Santana put down her still half-full beer by the counter.

"Yeah but I wasn't too sure if you wanted to." Brett's cheek were flushed, and Santana had a feeling it wasn't because of the beer.

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

Brett scuffed the floor with his sneaker. "'Cause you always leave in a hurry," he mumbled. "Even when the song hasn't finished yet."

Santana felt a pang of guilt. She grabbed her bottle of beer again and downed the remaining contents in one gulp. Brett's eyes were on her, looking with a mixture of curiosity and something that Santana couldn't identify. Whatever, Santana couldn't afford to be thinking much tonight of all nights. She took a deep breath.

"Well, tonight is going to be different."

She took his hand and together they made their way to the dance floor.

Dancing with Brett could only be described as heavenly. The way his body moved, all fluid and graceful, was a treat to watch, but to actually be grinding against it? Orgasmic. Santana could feel herself getting lost in the rhythm of Brett's body against hers, his torso pressing against her back, his arms wrapped around her waist, over her own arms. She spinned around to face him, putting her hands behind his head, threading through his short blond hair. She was already breathing heavily, and she was pleased to note that so was Brett. She looked into his eyes and saw that they were dark, so dark like the sea at night-time. She became aware of the thudding of her heart in her chest, and of the sticky sensation between her legs. Keeping one hand on his hair, she let her other hand travel down his chest and abdomen, scratching lightly the abs that were prominent even through his shirt. She heard the hitching of his breath, and emboldened, she slipped her hand under his shirt, exploring the contours of his muscles.

"San…" His voice was low and warning. Santana smirked and grinded her hips against his. She could feel him getting hard, and unlike earlier with Puck, she didn't shove him away. Instead she pressed even closer. She felt something nip her ear and a voice, deep and husky, asking, "Should we go somewhere?"

Santana's eyes were half-closed already and she was about to answer when she caught sight of piercing hazel green eyes from across the room. She pulled back sharply, almost knocking into somebody. Santana looked at Quinn who was walking towards her, with her bumbling Frankenteen boyfriend in tow, and at Brett, whose face showed confusion and—was that hurt?, and then back again at Quinn.

"Santana."

"Quinn."

Quinn turned to Brett. "Brett."

Collecting himself, Brett smiled widely. "Hey, Quinn!"

"Hey guys," said Finn, with a dopey grin on his face. Santana just rolled her eyes while Brett nodded in acknowledgment.

"Did you two come here together?" Quinn asked.

Santana's mouth went dry, and in one fleeting moment, she wondered how is it that Quinn could make her feel so ashamed to be with Brett, Brett who was nothing short of amazing. At the corner of her eye, Santana saw him watching her carefully, his face blank.

And it struck Santana that Brett was waiting for her to run away again, like she had been wont to do.

The feeling of shame for treating Brett this way overweighed the one that Quinn seemed to almost always inspire in her.

"Yes," Santana said in a firm, clear voice. "We came here together."

Quinn arched her eyebrow. "So, is he—"

"He is. We're together." Even as Santana said these words, she was acutely aware of the omission of the defining terms like _boyfriend_ or _dating_. She felt her insides twist uncomfortably.

She waited for Quinn to say something scathing or insulting, but to her surprise, Quinn just nodded, and it may have been just Santana's imagination, but she thought she saw relief in those hazel eyes. She blinked and the look was gone, and Quinn was wearing that cold icy mask again.

"Well then, I'll see you two around."

As Quinn left, with Finn trotting behind her, Santana suddenly felt weak. Strong hands held her by the shoulders, helping her stay up. She turned her head to look at Brett standing behind her. There was a soft smile on his lips and his eyes shone with a proud light. "Come, let's find a place to sit."

After a couple of 'oops, sorry, carry on,' they finally found an empty room in the second floor. Judging by the tidiness of the place and the almost bare walls, this must be Scott's older sister's room, the one who had went off to college in Chicago. But whatever. It was kind of difficult to keep thinking of other things when Brett was pressing hot open-mouthed kisses on her jaw, sucking and nipping on her neck. She let out an embarrassingly loud moan as he began sucking on that spot just below her ear that never failed to make her toes curl.

She tugged at Brett's shirt until he pulled away just long enough to remove it. Santana only had a brief moment to admire the beautifully sculpted body Brett possessed, his lean and muscular form and his defined abs. She let her hands wander to the latter, her thumbs trailing down and she began rubbing circles around his belly button. His fingers began fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress. In no time, Santana found herself only in her underwear and she huffed when she realized that Brett was still wearing his pants. She made quick work of it and soon, Brett was hovering above her in only his boxers—with cute little ducks printed all over it. She could see all too clearly the bulge on the front and she cupped it, all the while pulling Brett closer for a kiss.

Brett moaned at the contact, and Santana took the opportunity to slip her tongue inside his mouth. She began undulating beneath him when she felt his hands slip under her bra, palming her breasts. He pulled back before diving back again, sucking Santana's bottom lip, caressing it with his tongue. He then began a burning trail downwards. He unclasped her bra, and Santana thanked God it was strapless so that it was easily done away with. He took his time (re)acquainting his lips with her skin, and Santana was getting impatient. She bucked against him, pressing pelvis against his crotch.

A groan escaped Brett's lips and Santana could feel his fingers digging on her skin.

"I need you now," Santana hissed, bucking against him again. She could hear Brett inhale sharply, and felt how his body trembled slightly.

Brett lifted his head to look at her in the eye. He shook his head. "Not yet."

Santana closed her eyes tight as she let him take his time exploring her body with his hands and lips. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought this was his first time. But she had known enough of Brett that he did sleep around quite a lot, having slept with most of the Cheerio girls, maybe even most of the female population. Santana had a nagging suspicion that Brett might have even exceeded Puck's record, but that was something she didn't exactly want to verify.

Her mind was going hazy with Brett's ministrations, and she could feel the ache between her legs intensify.

"Please, Brett, I need you," she choked out as she slipped her hand into his boxers, taking hold of his cock, caressing it until it lengthened in her palm. Brett's breath hitched and he hastily grabbed for the condom he tossed into the bed when they first entered the room. He quickly tore open the packet, as Santana slipped her panty down. Brett pulled back just enough to slip the condom on before resuming his position above her. He spread her legs wider, stroking her already wet center, rubbing tight circles on her clit. Santana could almost feel herself coming and she took his cock between them, guiding it to her opening, until Brett eased himself inside her.

Brett watched her closely, waiting for her to get used to him being inside her before moving in and out in slow, steady rhythm. He started kissing her neck again, sucking and nipping, as Santana felt herself climbing higher and higher, her muscles tensing in anticipation.

"Look at me, San," Brett whispered hoarsely, trying to keep the rhythm.

Santana, who had her eyes closed, had a hard time opening them, but because of the almost pleading tone in Brett's voice, she did her best, and she found herself looking at Brett's dark eyes. Before she even realized what was happening, she felt her insides clench. She dug her fingers on Brett's back, the waves of pleasure crashing over her as she let out a muffled cry.

She tried to keep her eyes open but as the last waves rocked through her body, she couldn't help but close them again. She felt Brett collapse on top of her before pulling out and rolling away to the side. She could hear his heavy breathing on her ear. Usually she would dress hastily and leave without a second glance, but she had never been this spent with those other boys. Only with Brett did she come so hard that she forgot how to move her body for the moments afterwards. So she stayed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in time with her still wildly thudding heart.

"Can I be your boyfriend, San? Even when this night is over?"

Santana opened her eyes and was met with darkness slashed by the strips of orange light filtered through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. She wondered dimly what she had been fighting against all this time. 'We're friends,' she thought, 'and nothing ruins friendships faster than romance.'

But she knew it wasn't just that.

Brett was…

Brett was different.

And being different was something unforgivable in high school.

Even so, Santana couldn't bring herself to hurt him. She let out a shaky breath as she said softly, "Okay."

**oOo**

Brett wasn't her first.

Noah Puckerman was. It happened in one of the parties, and in hindsight, Santana wondered why she had chosen to lose her virginity to someone as careless and rough as Puck. It wasn't really because Puck couldn't make her come; he could, but she really could have done away with the soreness at the pit of her caused by him pounding away without a care in the world.

It wasn't like she actively chose Puck; it just had to be anyone _but_ Brett.

A kiss was one thing; friends kiss after all. Just look at the French.

But sex? Well yeah, there were friends with benefits and fuck buddies, but Santana couldn't bring herself to taint their friendship with something so carnal, so dirty (this last, courtesy of the banging in the pulpit on Sunday masses… ooh, wanky).

Besides, sex was merely a currency she could use to climb to the top of the social ladder.

Sure, sometimes it was good, but it being good didn't make it anything other than what it was. A tool.

Until one thing led to another and after winning the National Cheerleading Competition, she found herself in bed, with Brett.

Brett, who had been looking a bit dejected ever since she had slept with Puck (which Santana was pretty sure he found out through that idiot Puckerman bragging about his sexcapades).

Brett, who only gave a small smile when Santana started cancelling out on their friendly dates (for fear of not being able to stop herself next time).

Brett, that one person that Santana was absolutely sure she wanted to sleep with (…literally).

He was gentle and the way he spent time to know her body, know the spots that would drive her crazy or those that made her melt, made Santana's heart clench almost painfully. He was everything that Santana didn't know she had wanted, and at that moment, she wished that he was her first.

Maybe then sex wouldn't be just a tool.

When he finally entered her, it was one of the best feelings that Santana had ever felt in her life, like this should be the one she strove to experience time and again.

And afterwards, when she lay panting in the darkened hotel room (the rest of the Cheerios had gone partying at one of the larger rooms), she knew that this would happen again.

He didn't ask her anything, unlike before when they had kissed for the first time. Like he expected that she would say the same thing as before. It sat sourly with Santana, but she couldn't have said anything otherwise anyway.

She expected her first words to him to be, "You have to leave before they come back."

But what came out instead was, "Stay."

Brett turned towards her, a happy contented smile on his face. "As long as you want."

Santana shifted closer to him, until her face was buried on the crook of his neck. She revelled in the scent of him, strong and musky, with the hint of vanilla he was so fond of. He smelled like the rest of the guys that Santana had slept with, and yet not like them as well. Always there was a feeling of disgust that rushed towards her after being with those other guys, a feeling that made Santana want to scrub herself raw to wipe away the sensation of their touch on her body. But this time, with Brett, she felt none of that at all. If anything, she wanted to stay close to him for as long as possible.

And she would have, until she remembered the reasons why she had been distancing herself from him. Reasons she would rather not think of now, reasons she would think of later.

So she let the moment last for a little while longer.

Of course, the now ended and later came.

Brett dressed himself quietly, shooting her furtive adoring looks every now and then. Santana pretended not to watch him, absently thumbing her phone instead. Normally she would be feigning sleep as her fuck-of-the-night slunk away, and honestly she would have done that but Brett made sure that she was awake before getting out of bed.

It made Santana's chest hurt.

Despite him not saying anything about what this meant about their relationship, his actions alone were enough to shift the boundaries. And Santana wasn't ready for this change.

Afterwards, Santana thought about their relationship, how it wouldn't be such a big deal if they became more than friends. Those things do happen after all. Childhood sweethearts and all that jazz and salsa. Sure, not all of them work out, but that's life and she shouldn't be too afraid to take that gamble. It was kind of obvious that Brett cared about her and liked her enough to do 'stuff' with her.

But the memory of those lonely days of being an outsider rushed back to her, and how it was just Brett who had saved her.

Brett was never just a friend to her. He had always been more than that. What he meant to her was something that no chick flick or romcom—not even Sweet Valley High—ever covered; she couldn't depend on their formula to decide which direction she should take.

Brett was far too precious to lose and she would be damned if she ever took any risk at all to jeopardize their comfortable and stable friendship.

And yet, she couldn't completely resist the pull, especially when in the weeks afterwards, Brett started coming over to her place more often.

(Brett seemed to have impeccable good timing or maybe a really good parental-units-radar, since whenever he came over, Santana's parents were always away.)

She woke up before Brett did almost every single time, and she would find herself staring at his sleeping face, so peaceful and unworried, which wasn't really different from his usual expression when awake, but somehow when he was asleep, Brett managed to look almost angelic. The sight made something stir within Santana's chest, a too-big and too-warm feeling.

And it would scare Santana every single time. So much so that she would hastily yet also carefully (so as not to wake him) get out of bed.

And as if to make up for this new level of physical intimacy, Santana found herself spending less and less time with him during the day. If Brett noticed this, he didn't say anything. But not long afterwards, Santana noted that the frequency with which Brett came over lessened as well.

She wondered if it was Brett's way of telling her without actually saying it that he wanted to be friends with her more than just having sex with her.

And it dawned on her how different Brett was, not only from the boys, but from everyone else, herself especially.

He was special.

He was better.

And because of that she vowed to treat Brett accordingly. She stopped sleeping with him; in the now-rare times that he came over, they would just hang out the way they used to, before the kiss and everything. She hung out with him in between classes, and after practice. She still went out with the other Cheerio girls (she had to keep up to maintain her popularity after all), but now she was learning to divide her time equally.

She was finally acting the way a friend should.

But that didn't completely quell the constant craving inside her.

**xxx**

The cheer practice was even more gruelling than usual. Santana's whole body ached from running the extra laps that Coach Sylvester made them run. It seemed like with every Nationals win, Coach was hell-bent in topping the level of difficulty of stunts and exertion of the human body. Or maybe trying to see how many laps it would take before one loses a leg.

(Times like this, Santana was a little grateful that she wasn't the captain or the assistant choreographer; as it was Quinn and Brett had to do extra work—Quinn, to make sure everything was accounted for, and Brett, to consult with Coach regarding the proposed stunts and maneuvers.)

Santana used what was left of her strength to drag her feet towards the locker room, nearly collapsing against the metal when she reached her own locker. Her fingers mechanically twisted the combination. She opened the door, staring at the contents blankly. Crap. She was too tired to even remember what she needed to shower.

"Hey Santana, I heard you and Brett Pierce are an item now."

That jolted Santana out from her stupor, and she could feel her heart starting to beat wildly in her chest. She knew that she should have expected this, even when she hadn't explicitly stated it in the party last night. After all, Quinn did ask her clearly to bring her boyfriend to the party, and it was a simple logical conclusion that since she brought Brett then he must be her boyfriend.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. As she was debating whether to confirm or deny this, the speaker continued, "Are you serious about that though? I mean, sure, he is hot and all, and is pretty good in bed—"

Santana slammed her locker shut as she turned to face the speaker. She narrowed her eyes and her mouth twisted in a snarl. "Listen here, Chubby McGee, unless you get to the point in the next second, Imma go all Lima Heights up on your fatty ass!"

Unperturbed, Chubby McGee just shrugged her shoulders. "You haven't heard then? He was spotted making out with some guy at the bleachers last week."

"And I heard that he has been giving head to the whole football team," another Cheerio muttered from somewhere to Santana's right.

Santana felt her head swim, and dread crawl under her skin.

"I mean it's pretty obvious, isn't it? Any guy who chooses to join the Cheerios has to be gay."

"I heard he also does ballet. I can totally see him wearing tutus!"

"Think he plays for both teams?"

"Guys can't be bi; they're just either straight or gay."

"Whatever. It's still disgusting. The thought of having ever slept with him makes me want to bathe in bleach."

"Do you think it's contagious?"

"That's really too bad though; he is really hot."

"My god, do you think we should get tested? I mean, who knows what he might have been carrying."

The voices became garbled in Santana's ears and the faces of the other Cheerios seemed to be melding into one monstrous hodgepodge of color. She felt a wave of nausea come over her and she leaned against the locker for support.

What next registered to her mind was Chubby McGee in front of her, squeezing her shoulder in mock sympathy with a pitying look in her face, and saying, "I'm so sorry your boyfriend… isn't who you thought he was."

That brought back a little more of Santana's awareness, and her eyes darted among the girls who were looking at her in a way that made Santana's blood run cold. There was a predatory glint in their eyes, which sent the message loud and clear: she was about to take a tumble from the social ladder if she didn't say anything in the next few seconds.

In the space of half-a-heartbeat, she saw once again the sneers, heard the jeers and taunts, felt the burning sensation of skin hitting the rough ground.

Before she knew it, Santana's lips were forming the words, "Don't be an idiot. I only brought him last night to put Puck in his place. I wouldn't be caught dead dating that sparkle-snatcher."

Chubby McGee studied her face, looking for cracks that would indicate that she was lying. But apparently she found none and she shrugged her shoulders and turned towards the shower stalls, her pony whipping behind her. The rest started to file into the stalls as well.

Except Santana.

She grabbed her bag and headed towards the parking lot.

**xxx**

Santana stayed in bed the whole night. When her mother came up to check on her, she just burrowed even further into the blankets and feigned sleeping. She heard her phone go off a couple of times, and she soon turned it off, as if by doing so, she could delay confronting the reality of what she just found out.

Her insides were roiling and churning so much she felt like vomiting.

'Those jealous bitches were just lying,' she thought feverishly. 'I should just ask Brett; I'm sure there was just a misunderstanding.'

But she remembered the incidents when Brett could elicit attention from men, and how sometimes it seemed like he was flirting with some of them. These incidents didn't make much impression on her mind at first, since Brett had always been more open and affectionate with his gestures, so much so that even his most innocent look or touch could be construed as flirting. Santana had been immune to this misconception since she had been friends with him for so long. But for people who didn't know him, they could be taken as an invitation.

'Yes, that's probably it. Those idiots just twisted things to make him look bad.'

She closed her eyes and begged for sleep to come, before the seeds of doubt could sprout again and choke this last comforting thought. Unfortunately for her, sleep eluded her and she was forced to relive in her mind seemingly trivial incidents she had stowed away, of Brett casually mentioning a hook-up here and there, how he would say 'he' or 'him' and Santana dismissing it as a slip-up on pronouns, the seemingly generic 'Charlie' and 'Alex' (and fine, the 'Brian' and 'John' but these Santana had dismissed as Brett's disjointed way of telling stories and mixing up names), and what Puck had implied last night.

Wow, she really missed out on the billboard with flashing rainbow-colored lights.

But Santana also remembered how he made love to her last night, confusing her thoughts even more.

She sighed and turned to her side. She wouldn't think of this tonight. The answer wasn't with her; it was with Brett. As she repeated this to herself, these thoughts started to quiet down… only to be replaced by the other thing that happened earlier, the words she had spoken mechanically when she had been cornered.

She had denied Brett.

And she had called him a 'sparkle-snatcher.'

(Well, to be honest, Santana wasn't entirely sure what a 'sparkle-snatcher' was, but the way she had said it and the way those other girls took it indicated it wasn't something very nice.)

'I didn't say he wasn't my friend… I just… I just said I wasn't dating him,' she argued to herself. 'I didn't do anything wrong.'

But even so, just as Brett had some explaining to do with regards to the other Cheerio girls' accusations, Santana knew that she had to explain as well. It wouldn't take long before this becomes campus news, especially since this tilted towards the unsavory gossip type.

She felt sick all over again.

**xxx**

"Santana Lopez, aka second banana aka Quinn Fabray's sidekick aka McKinley High's resident slut, what do you have to say regarding the rumors of you dating the quote-unquote sparkle-snatcher, Bretton Pierce?"

"Get out of my way, Jewfro, before I cut you up!"

"According to eyewitnesses, you have been spotted bringing him along to Scott Orson's party, which was tantamount to a declaration of your relationship status after Quinn Fabray gave you the explicit command to bring your boyfriend to the party—"

"Listen up, you freak! One, Quinn Bitch doesn't command me to do anything. Two, I can bring whoever I want to bring, and it doesn't have to mean anything."

"So you are denying of having relations of any kind with one Bretton Pierce?"

"He's—he's—"

"Looking hot and flustered there, Lopez!"

"Shut it, Puckerman!"

"Are you or are you not dating the quote-unquote sparkle-snatcher?"

"No, I'm not!"

"There you have it, folks. Straight from the horse's mouth. This is JBI reporting, over and out."

**xxx**

Brett was late for Glee. For the first time that anyone in the club could remember, Brett and Santana didn't enter the room together. Santana came at the usual time, though with Puck (who, for all his faults, wasn't the type to hold grudges and had only smirked and said, "I knew you'd see the light; after all, no one can resist the Puckasaurus for long"), and she sat beside him, instead of her usual seat at the back row.

"Has anybody seen Brett?" asked Mr. Schue. "He told me yesterday that he wanted to present something this afternoon—"

And as if on cue, Brett entered the club room. He glanced briefly at Mr. Schue and mumbled, "Sorry, I'm late," before making his way to the back row.

"Wait, Brett, didn't you have something prepared for the rest of the club?"

Brett had already settled on his usual seat, seemingly unperturbed with the vacant one beside him, the one where Santana usually sat. He just stared blankly at Mr. Schue, who began coughing awkwardly.

"Well, since Bretton has obviously changed his mind about doing a performance, which I am pretty sure would either be a dance party anthem or a rap—genres which I do not discriminate against but which I feel would be superfluous to try our hand on, considering the nature of show choir competition—I shall gladly take his place and deliver my rendition of a Streisand classic—"

"Shut it, hobbit! Can't you pull your head out of your bloated egoistic ass long enough to wait for him to respond?"

"Santana, language!"

That snapped out of his trance. His eyes skimmed over the rest of the group and lingered on the back of Santana's head. Her shoulders were squared in the way that they usually get when she was gearing up for a fight or when she was tensed.

Brett stood up. "Yes, Mr. Schue, I have a song prepared."

Eleven pairs of eyes followed him as he made his way to the front, but Brett didn't pay any attention to them. He went over to the guitarists and drummer to instruct them before taking center stage. Santana noted for the first time that the musicians were wearing baggy shirts—which reminded her of the fashion staple more than a decade ago—and the bouquet of roses almost hidden by the drums.

Mr. Schue, who had taken a seat on the side, clapped his hands and said, "I've got to say I was surprised with you taking the initiative to present a performance, Brett, but I'm really glad you did. Show us what you've got!"

Santana noticed that Brett looked pale, and there was none of his usual sprightly energy. His mouth was stretched thin and his eyes were resolutely fixed on the wall behind them, above the heads of the glee club members. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably and she inched away from Puck.

With the first strains of the guitars floated in the air, Santana's eyes widened in mingled surprise and recognition.

_I didn't ask, they shouldn't have told me,  
at first I'd laugh, but now—  
it's sinking in fast, whatever they've sold me.  
_

This was definitely not a dance party anthem or a rap. It was one of those sappy love songs that used to be popular back in the 90s.

_Well baby, I don't want to take advice from fools  
I'll just figure everything is cool  
until I hear it from you.  
_

But Santana soon noticed that the arrangement wasn't that of the original; it was slower, stripped down and almost… sad. It also didn't seem so smooth, it was almost like the arrangement was made hastily, like just a minute before it was presented.

Realization dawned on Santana as she put two and two together.

Brett had prepared this song since yesterday, probably to sing to her as some kind of a public announcement that they were now officially together (he had always been a fan of spectacle declarations, his favorite being Heath Ledger's performance in _10 Things I Hate About You_), but had changed the arrangement at the last minute because… because…

He has found out.

Santana felt a lump growing in her throat. Then Brett turned his eyes to meet hers. They looked so sad and almost pleading as he sang the next lines of the song.

_I can't let it get me off  
or break up my train of thought.  
As far as I know, nothing's wrong,  
until I hear it from you.  
_

He was giving her a chance, telling her that her word alone would mean anything to him. She could say that it was all part of a conspiracy that the jealous Cheerio bitches were cooking up to drag her down, that she had never called him any names, that she didn't just stand silently as the other girls called him names, that she didn't deny that he was her boyfriend.

She could, but she wouldn't.

Brett kept his eyes on her, waiting, but Santana found that she couldn't bear to keep looking at him. She turned away, knowing full well that by this act she was giving Brett her answer.

By this time, everybody was squirming in their seats for two reasons: one, they were surprised to see this side of Brett Pierce they didn't know existed; two, the song, or rather the way he sang it, was actually pretty depressing.

When the song ended, nobody moved a muscle. After a minute, Mr. Schue stood up, clapping, which some tried to follow but the sound of weak applause only made everything more awkward.

"All right, Brett!" Mr. Schue's face looked strained as he forced a smile. "Thank you for that… mellow performance. So now—Brett?"

Brett had grabbed his bag and stormed out of the club room before anybody could take in what was happening.

Santana noticed that there were tearstains on his cheeks.

**xxx**

Santana had been itching to run after him, to explain, to apologize, to do anything to make up for the shitty way she had been acting. But always, this feeling of cowardice chained her to where she sat and she could only stay until it was over. Puck must have noticed that she was out of it since he didn't make his usual indecent proposal. She had made her way to the parking lot, and glancing around, she saw that Brett had already left the school. Unsurprising, really. She thought of just going home, but instead she found herself walking towards the bleachers. She found a pack of cigarettes, which she suspected belonged to those trashy wannabe-gangsters—the Skanks, they called themselves—stashed in between some of the band equipments.

She had been sitting silently, smoking stick after stick, when a shadow fell over her.

"What is wrong with you?!"

"Leave me alone, Fabray," Santana said dully, without looking up, as she took a drag from her cigarette.

"No, I won't, not until you get up your ass and explain to me why you're on the frontpage of that creep Israel's blog!"

"Well I'm sorry I tarnished your reign as the Queen-Bitch-in-Charge of the Cheerios!" Santana turned towards Quinn, her eyes blazing angrily. "No wait, I'm pretty sure you had this all planned out—to remove me from lieutenancy."

Quinn crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And why would I do that?"

"You really want me to spit it out? Fine! Because you hate me! Which is totally cool with me since I hate your guts as well, with all your virginal veneer to cover up the conniving little bitch you really are inside!"

Santana didn't notice that she had jumped up, thrown her cigarette to the ground, and started pointing at Quinn repeatedly as her other hand gestured wildly for emphasis. What she did notice was Quinn standing impassively before her, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

"You really are an idiot."

Santana had the urge to lunge at her and claw her eyes out but restrained herself. Instead she gave her a withering look before resuming her seat on the ladder. "Whatever, just go away."

But Quinn didn't. Instead she found a seat on one of the band equipment opposite Santana.

"I was rooting for him, you know."

"What?"

"Brett. I was rooting for him."

Santana stared at Quinn, incredulity painted on her face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I was hoping giving you an ultimatum would finally speed things up between you two." At Santana's still puzzled look, Quinn let out a sigh of impatience. "Oh come on! The sexual tension between you two is so thick, it's actually suffocating. And it's pretty obvious that Brett wanted to be with you. Why do you keep resisting?"

"Hell if we have a heart-to-heart, Fabray!"

"You know what? Forget it. I'm actually trying to help you here—"

"Why? Why do you even care?"

"Because you're my friend, goddammit!"

Santana's eyes widened in shock. Wow, she didn't see that coming (the swearing and the admission both). After a minute of gawping, suspicion crept in. She studied Quinn's features, looking for any indication that she was playing with her—a slight arch of the eyebrow, or the narrowing of those hazel green eyes, or that twitch of her lips when she was planning something devious. But she saw none of those, and not even that icy mask that Quinn almost always wore. There was just anger blazing in her eyes. Santana slumped her shoulders.

"He's my friend, Q," she said in a much softer voice.

Quinn frowned in confusion. "I know."

"No… I mean he's my friend, my childhood friend, my best friend, my only friend, and I guess I was just afraid of… things changing."

"I get that, but you have been… sleeping with him, right? Isn't that a form of change as well?"

"It was a mistake that I kept making, but… I tried to stop it, Q. And we haven't been doing it for months, until… until the party the other night. I don't know, I don't understand. I mean, it's supposed to be simple, right? There are shows and books for this kind of shit but none of them ever featured someone like Brett!"

After a few seconds of silence punctuated only by Santana's thudding heart, Quinn asked casually, "So what makes Brett special?"

Santana gaped at Quinn in something akin to horror. Was she seriously asking this? There was only honest curiosity in Quinn's eyes so Santana bit back the string of expletives that nearly made its way out of her mouth. She took a deep breath as she recalled Brett's smile or the way his eyes would go all soft and hazy when he was daydreaming (which was pretty often), or how he would come up with such baffling answers to questions (like recounting the colorful tale of how the unicorn got its horn when asked to explain the nitrogen cycle), or how he could make Santana feel it was all right to be herself around him.

"Brett is… he's just… wonderful."

"Wow, that was a pretty lackluster answer." Santana shot her a dirty glare but Quinn only chuckled. "Good thing your face was able to tell me more."

Santana still remained scowling as Quinn stretched her arms.

"So I take it, he isn't gay then?"

Santana reddened as she felt heat rush to her head. "Why, will you damn him to eternal perdition if he is?"

"Your prejudice astounds me," said Quinn dryly, in a way that made Santana think of a younger version of their Coach. "And somehow, you manage to make this conversation all about me when I'm trying to make it about you and Brett. Are you sure you don't have a crush on me, Santana?"

The urge to punch the smirking captain was so tempting but Santana settled to just clenching her fists on her side. She took deep breaths to clear her head before the image of bashing her oh-so-perfect nose became too irresistible.

"Don't flatter yourself, Q," said Santana in a cool, even voice. "Even if I was wearing flannel and eating jicama, I'd sooner tap RuPaul than you."

But that only made Quinn laugh out loud. "You do realize how gay you just sounded, right?"

Santana jumped to her feet, quivering with rage. "If you're just going to insult me like this—"

"Oh, just calm yourself. Sit back down." Santana hesitated but Quinn gave her a look that made her obey grudgingly. "You are aware that you are stringing Brett along, with the way you're acting with him?"

"I hardly think you're in any position to tell me that, Fabray. We all know you're not keeping Pilsbury DoughTurd because of any noble, ardent feeling on your part."

"Can we stop talking about me for a second? Seriously Lopez, your fixation on me isn't flattering at all—"

"Shut up!"

"You said it yourself, that Brett is special, that he's different from all those other guys. And I do like Brett, even when I don't understand what he's saying most of the time. He's talented, he's kind, he's—like a promiscuous and less intellectually gifted version of Mike Chang."

"Oh and I know how badly you've been wanting to tap that," Santana said under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, go on."

"I like Brett, and I like you, you two are like the only friends I have in this squad—yes, Santana, I consider you a friend, even when you're bitching at me; I can see now that it's only your attraction to me rearing its head." Santana opened her mouth to retort but Quinn continued without even pausing for a breath. "Besides, you are actually nicer when you two are together. That makes things a little more bearable in Coach Sylvester's training-in-hell."

"You know, I don't see where all this is heading."

"What are you so afraid of, Santana?"

Santana furrowed her brows as she watched the daylight fading with the sunset, the horizon was bathed in gold and red. She debated whether to tell Quinn the truth. But she was too tired to keep everything in and isolating herself, so she whispered, "Of being different."

Quinn didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue. Santana took another stick from the pack she found, lit it and puffed a few times before speaking again. "That's really the reason why I did," she gestured to her uniform, "all this. I wanted to belong, you know? Or if that wasn't possible, at least to have enough power to not be pushed around. But Brett…" Santana let out a hollow laugh. "Brett doesn't care about all that. He doesn't mind being different. And that scares me. Even more than changing things between us, I'm afraid that I won't be strong enough to stand being different with him."

"Why don't you just change him instead?" asked Quinn, as if that was the most obvious solution in the world.

Santana's eyes flashed angrily. "His being different is what makes him Brett! I'll be damned before I try to change any part of him!"

Something flickered behind Quinn's eyes. "Is there anything that would make you try and brave everything to be with him?

"I don't know, Q… maybe, if I could be sure that he lo—cares about me the most, I'd be brave enough. You know how he is, how he's so kind and giving to everyone—sometimes, I don't know what makes me special to him."

"God, you really are an idiot," muttered Quinn. Then she asked in a louder voice, "If he gave you any indication that you are something irreplaceable to him, you wouldn't mind all the talks? You really wouldn't mind that he sleeps around with boys as well?"

"If I'm really special to him, he wouldn't be sleeping with anyone else anymore," Santana answered with conviction.

"So all this trouble because you aren't sure if Brett Pierce is in love with you?" Quinn stood up, dusting off the back of her skirt. Santana flinched at the l-word. "Why don't you just ask him then? Hopefully you're not deaf as well as blind."

Santana just stared as Quinn walked away across the field towards the parking lot, all the while wondering when she had fallen down the rabbit-hole that led to this fucked-up dimension where she and Quinn were… sorta-friends.

**xxx**

Santana shivered with the chilly night air even through her hoodie and track pants. She knew she totally looked unglamorous right now but she could care less. She looked at the window on the right, by the old oak tree. The light was still on, meaning Brett was still awake.

Santana took a deep breath to give her courage, before she went over to the Pierce oak tree. It had been years since she last climbed trees but she doubted that her ability diminished drastically, what with all the sick exercises Coach Sylvester forced onto the squad. She found that she still managed to find the right spots to hold on to, to step on to, and in no time at all, she found herself atop the branch nearest Brett's window. The curtains, which featured prancing unicorns in a blue background, were drawn. Santana's heart warmed at the familiarity, at this weirdness that her friend had always possessed and until that moment, she didn't know she had come to lo—ahem, she had come to be fond of.

She knocked against the glass window three times.

After a few moments of silence, she heard some shuffling and then the curtains were parted to the side, revealing suspicious blue eyes. When Brett saw her, his eyes widened in surprise and he soon lifted the window up. But as he took a step back, he seemed to remember that they were fighting so instead he leaned over the sill. Santana thought that if anybody could see them now, they would make such an interesting picture: her on the tree, him by the window.

"What are you doing here, San?"

"Can I come in first? It's kinda chilly and I really don't trust this branch to hold my weight for long."

Brett just crossed his arms and frowned at her, and Santana was afraid he wasn't going to invite her in at all. But after a minute, he extended his arm. "I'm mad at you, but you're still so hot."

Santana blushed as she took his hand with hers and held on to the window frame with her other. She rocked herself on the branch to gain momentum before swinging herself into the room.

As she regained her posture, she became aware that she was still holding on to Brett's hand. She wanted so bad to just keep holding on to him, have his hand so warm and firm on hers forever. But she knew she had something to fix first, and so she withdrew her hand with much reluctance.

Brett crossed his arms across his chest again, waiting for her to speak up.

For a brief moment, Santana wondered if this was something she could just gloss over with sex, but she immediately junked the idea. She had never really done this before, this apologizing thing—well, not for anything major. She and Brett had never really fought before, not in a large scale, at least. And so now, she was at a loss how to go about this.

Well, one could never go wrong by saying sorry first.

"I'm sorry," Santana said in one breathless whisper.

The expression on Brett's face didn't change, still cold and stony. Santana knew this wouldn't be so easy, but dammit, she certainly hoped it wouldn't be too difficult. And despite being the one in the wrong, Santana could feel her temper rising the longer that Brett stood there silently.

She was never really patient to begin with. But she had enough sense not to lash out, not to say anything that would just worsen the whole situation, a situation that she had brought about in the first. So she took a deep breath and tried again.

"I'm sorry, Brett. Please, say something."

Brett seemed to have softened a little and he uncrossed his arms. He walked over to his bed and sat on it. Santana remained by the window, unsure where to place herself. It had been a long time since she had been to Brett's room, and even though nothing much had changed in it, except perhaps more pictures on the wall and framed ones on the table, she found herself a stranger here. This was Brett's safe place, after all. A place where Santana wasn't sure she belonged, ever since she had let high school change her. She bowed her head as she wondered why she had made herself a stranger to him.

"I honestly thought you would be the last one to forsake me, but apparently I was wrong."

Santana's head snapped up at the sound of his voice. It took her a moment before the words registered to her. And before she could control herself, she was saying, "Don't be unreasonable! The rest of the Cheerios—"

"—would make fun of you for dating a _sparkle-snatcher_," Brett finished for her, his blue eyes flashing angrily.

Santana froze.

After a minute of Brett glaring daggers at the space above Santana's left shoulder, he lowered his head, slumping his shoulders. He covered his face with his hands. He swallowed before speaking in a softer, sadder voice. "I know what people have been saying about me… and yeah, their words used to hurt me, but… I learned not to mind them since I had this one person, this wonderful person… who thought I was wonderful, too." He dropped his hands and looked at her. "I thought I had you."

Santana felt her heart twisting painfully inside her chest. She took a step towards him. "Brett…" She reached out to touch him but stopped herself. No, this wasn't the time to distract themselves with actions. Words were needed now, words to clear up the mixed messages that she had been sending to him for almost two years now, words to salve the wounds she had caused. She clenched her fist and dropped it to her side.

She took a few more steps toward him until she was only a foot away from him. She then sat herself on the floor. Brett watched her closely but didn't say anything.

"I never stopped believing in you, Brett. I still think you're wonderful, that you're this amazingly smart, talented and sweet person, the best in this world. And I know this doesn't excuse whatever I said to JBI or to those girls but I didn't mean any of those words. I'm really sorry for putting myself and my fear first, for hurting you time and again, for not being the good friend, the best friend that you deserve." To Santana's surprise, her eyes were stinging with tears. She inhaled sharply, to keep the tears at bay. She thought of pausing until the feeling passed but she wanted to take advantage of the momentum of truth-telling/heart-baring, so she powered through. "You mean so much to me, and I swear that if you forgive me, I will never deny how much you mean to me."

Santana stopped when a sob almost escaped from her lips. She lowered her face because she didn't think she could keep the tears from falling anymore. And hell, she wouldn't want to pressure Brett into forgiveness because she started crying.

Brett was silent for a while and it took everything Santana to keep her shoulders still and to not make any sound. Just as she thought she was about to burst, Brett spoke.

"Do you promise?"

Santana took three shallow breaths and one deep one before she lifted her face. She met Brett's blue eyes steadily. "I promise."

Brett broke into a small smile. "Then pinkie-swear it."

He raised his right pinkie and held it in front of him. Santana felt her heart ready to burst at the seams as she raised her own right pinkie and twined it with his.

"I pinkie-swear it," Santana sobbed.

In one swift motion, Brett gathered her in his arms, lifting her up and twirled her around. Santana let out a squeak of surprise. After a minute of twirling around the room, he put her down on the bed. Dizzy, Santana flopped like a bag of potatoes. Brett's bed was soft and comfortable and smelled so much like him, musky with a hint of vanilla. She closed her eyes as she tried to gather her wits, but she soon rolled over to her side, nuzzling the covers for his scent. The bed dipped as Brett laid himself in front of her.

"Now I'm jealous of my bed."

Santana's eyes shot open as she reddened. Brett was looking at her with this big smile on his face, his blue eyes twinkling with such unbridled happiness. Santana's heart smote her as she realized how quickly Brett got over every crappy thing she had done to me.

"You forgive me?" she asked in a small voice. "Just like that?"

"Yeah." He rubbed her arm when the half-doubtful, half-contrite look on her face remained. "Hey, even Jesus forgave his bestie and ate out at KFC after he denied him three times, right?"

Santana chuckled. She reached out to grab the hem of Brett's shirt. He quirked an eyebrow as a coy smile appeared on his lips. "Are we getting to the make-up sex part? 'Cause my parents and Hailey are at the art fair."

"Feeling frisky, are we?" laughed Santana. She ran her thumb at the seams of his shirt. "Can we… can we just stay like this for a while?"

Brett nudged his forehead against hers, his face so close that Santana could count the freckles. "As long as you want," he whispered, his breath tickling her lips.

As much as she wanted to close the distance, Santana focused on watching Brett's eyes instead, how the light and shadows changed their blueness, making them known and unknown to her, how they could shift from the color of a clear blue sky to the deep dark depths of the sea. Santana couldn't help but feel that despite having known Brett for eight years and knowing stuff from his shoe size to the quirky way he would twirl his thumbs when he was excited, there were still a lot that she didn't know about him. She wondered if this was because she had never really paid attention, or if they were recent changes that had escaped her notice. Either way, it still boiled down to the fact that it was because she who hadn't tried hard enough to know everything there is to know about him.

"You're thinking too much."

Santana snapped out of her daze. "Huh?"

"You have this look on your face." Brett furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose which made Santana laugh.

"No, I don't, you dork!"

Brett relaxed his features into his gentle smile. "No, you don't," he agreed. "Have I told you how much I love your laugh? 'Cause I do. I love it very much."

"Good, because you make me laugh all the time."

A look of tenderness crossed Brett's face. He leaned closer to Santana. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Santana only smiled and waited for Brett to claim this. When his lips touched hers, a jolt ran straight down to her center, urging her to press even closer to him. It felt like the first time all over again. She caught his lower lip between hers, sucking it. Brett shifted and he ran his tongue across Santana's upper lip, which earned him a startled gasp. Santana felt him smile against her lips. They went on kissing wetly until the need for air became too urgent.

A whine escaped Brett's lips as Santana pulled away. She smirked.

"You want me."

"I do."

Santana stopped at the look of such frank honesty on his face, his blue eyes dark with want, his face flushed and his breath coming out in pants. He leaned over to kiss her again. "I want you."

And with that, all thoughts of teasing fled Santana's mind. This wasn't just any guy who she could play with, who she could dangle sex in front of and then bait until he grovelled to her feet. No, this was Brett, Brett who was everything good in this miserable, stinking world.

She reached out to touch his face, her thumb caressing his lower lip before she put her hand at the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her until his whole body lay flushed against her own.

Santana would have been content to lie like this when she remembered something, something that she told Quinn didn't bother her so much but which, in truth, bothered her a hell lot. Brett must have felt something shift inside her since he pulled back a little to look at her in the face.

"What's wrong, San?"

"It's…" She wanted to say nothing, but she didn't want to start lying and covering up again, not when she had made such good progress tonight, not when Brett had given her his trust once again. So even if it embarrassed her to be broaching this topic, she urged herself on. "H-Have you been… um…" Santana began again in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "g-giving head to the football team?"

To her surprise, Brett didn't look offended at the question. He just said, "No," and then his face screwed up in disgust. "I wouldn't give head to guys who don't wash their junk. That's, like, revolting."

Santana sighed in relief before realizing something. "Wait, so you don't mind giving head?"

"I don't. If the bits are clean, of course."

She froze, her blood turning cold. "Brett, are you gay?"

Without missing a beat, he replied, "And happy, too." At the torn expression on Santana's face, he amended. "I like everybody, San."

"B-but, how can you like both boys and girls? How can you still like boys, when you can have girls?"

Brett grinned. "Wow, now _that_ just sounded gay, coming from you."

Santana could feel her face heating up in embarrassment. "Not you too," she groaned. "I've had enough of that from Quinn."

Brett's eyebrows quirked up in interest. "Oh? What'd she say?"

"Nothing much," said Santana, hoping to divert the conversation. "She just gave me a talking to. Can you believe it? Quinn, of all people!"

"That's not really surprising," Brett hummed against her hair. "Quinn's nice."

"You think everybody's nice."

"No, I don't. I think Finn's an idiot and Puck's a jerk. But anyway, I know what you're doing, Santana. What did Quinn say?"

"I'd rather not relive the conversation, Brett. It still feels surreal to me."

"Like Fruit Loops?" Brett frowned. "It was tasty? Were you hooking up with Quinn?"

"Dear god, Brett! No! Surreal, like it was so strange that it seemed like part of an alternate world." She glanced at him and saw that he had his puppy-dog eyes and pout on. She sighed. "You really are unfair, you know that? Quinn was just being her egoistic self, I swear Berry must be rubbing off on her." Santana added inside her head '… wanky.' "She was spouting all this crap about me…" She flushed and she mumbled the next words. "…having a crush on her."

"Well, Quinn _is_ pretty. Hey, maybe we can invite her over!" Brett grinned. Then he added in a sing-song voice. "One two three, not only you and me…"

"Are you for real, Brett Pierce?!"

"Yup!"

"No, we're not inviting her or anyone else! If we're gonna have sex, it's just going to be you and me. So you better deal with it!"

"Hmmm, I don't find anything worthy of a complaint with that." Brett nuzzled her neck, kissing down a trail. "So what made Quinn think you've got the hots for her?"

"You're really not dropping this, are you?"

"Hey, any information regarding your potentially fluid teen sexuality is a matter of great importance to me." Santana could feel him grin cheekily against her skin.

Santana sighed before lowering her eyes. "It's how I know so much about her, I guess… and how much I hate her. Things that apparently have to have something to do with attraction instead of just plain utter loathing."

"Well, why do you hate her, San?"

"Because she's such an overachieving bitch."

"Saaan."

Santana felt heat rush to her face. "She's… I don't know. She's like this poster girl for what a girl should be like in high school—cheer captain, popular, straight-A, blonde. I guess she's everything I've always wanted to be."

"Oh San." Brett gave her a firm chaste kiss. "Quinn's great and all, but she has nothing on you. You're the awesomest girl in the school, even without those things that Quinn possesses. You have a good heart, and I should know, I've known you for an eternity!"

The too-big, too-warm feeling bubbled inside Santana's chest, but this time, instead of running away, she pulled Brett even closer to her. She rested her head under his chin. "You're biased," she murmured halfheartedly, as tears began to gather in her eyes.

"I'm awesome."

"That you are." They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the cadence of their heartbeats. After a minute of this, Santana asked, almost shyly, "Brett, what does it mean, you liking everybody?"

Brett squeezed her before answering. "It means just that, San. It doesn't really matter much to me what a person has or hasn't, physically. Besides, I love the human body, and I love exploring the ways in how to make people feel good because it also helps me how to make myself feel good."

"Oh."

When Santana didn't say anything more, Brett frowned. "Are you okay?"

Santana felt a lump forming in her throat. "I… It's stupid, Brett."

"Hey, I'm sure that whatever it is, it's not. Come on, San. Tell me."

"I… I want you to be mine… and mine alone." Santana ducked her head to hide her embarrassed blush. She began fiddling with the edge of the blanket again. "Told you it was stupid."

Brett raised himself up with his elbow. "Hey," he said softly. "What makes you think I'm not yours?"

"Because you espouse that 'free love' shit. You said it yourself you love sharing yourself with others. But I'm not as good as you are. I'm selfish, and I want you, only you… and I want you to want only me, too." Santana let out a nervous laugh. At the silence that met her words, she grew anxious and she shook her head. "Just forget what I said."

As she turned to get out of bed, she felt Brett's hand on her wrist, stopping her. "Wait, San."

Santana stiffened at the contact. She didn't move for a few moments, gathering whatever was left of her courage to look back at Brett. When she turned her body to face him, she kept her eyes on the bedsheets. "Yeah?" she mumbled.

"Hey, look at me." Brett tilted her chin up until her eyes were on his bright blue ones.

"I want you, Santana. I do, I really, really do. I've wanted you ever since I first laid eyes on you, when you were the tiny potty-mouthed Red Ranger who swore to protect the other children at the playground from the likes of Rick and Azimio." He looked into her eyes with an intensity that made her shiver. But as Santana was drawn into his eyes, he seemed to be searching something in hers as well. She wasn't sure if he found it but he flickered his eyes down. She was about to ask him what was wrong when she saw that the tips of his ears were pinking.

"Brett?"

At the sound of his name, he raised his face again and hesitated only for a brief moment before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Which nevertheless made Santana want more, and as he was pulling back, she trailed after him. It was kind of amazing how the admission of him wanting her could turn her on more than anything.

But Brett let out a soft laugh as he gently pushed her back. She pouted in annoyance.

His face was pink, and his mouth was quirked up in that lopsided smile which usually meant that he was going to admit some secret. A secret that Santana could care less about at the moment because honestly, she just wanted to get her mack on. This shy boy persona that Brett showed at times never failed to shoot straight to her core.

Santana leaned in once again but Brett firmly kept her in place. "I want to tell you something," he said, somewhat breathlessly.

"Well then, tell me now. Or maybe after. After is good." Santana zeroed in on the freckle sitting at the right corner of his mouth. She licked her lips and she took a small sense of satisfaction to see it caused Brett to squirm.

But instead of pushing her down to the bed, he took a deep breath before pressing his forehead against hers so that she would meet his gaze again.

"I love you, Santana. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in this world." He rubbed his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss. "I love a lot of people, but I love you the most, and I will choose you over everyone else every single time." He paused before adding in a softer voice, "I'm yours, if you'll have me, sparkle-snatcher and all."

Santana could feel a lump growing in her throat as she flung her arms around Brett, holding him close. "What are you even saying?" she choked out. "Of course, I'll have you, I'll have every inch of you, everything you are… you know I'll always love you most, Brett Pierce." She could feel him smiling against her neck. She drew back to look at those blue eyes again.

"And we'll be sparkle-snatchers together."

**xxx**

"All right, guys! Before we begin discussing this week's theme, Santana has something she wants to perform for us."

"Wait a minute, Mr. Schue; last time, Bretton had asked for the very same thing and while I do applaud my clubmates for finally seeing how music can be a great avenue for them to channel their otherwise carnal energies, might I remind them, and you too, Mr. Schue, of the pressing need for us to focus on our Sectionals performances, which would feature my voice prominently, hence every opportunity given to members to indulge in their half-hearted attempts to showcase their mediocre talents is an opportunity that I am deprived of and which very well may cost us—ow!"

"Oops." Santana shrugged as Rachel rubbed the side of her head where a crumpled piece of paper (which suspiciously looked heavier than it should have any right to be) had hit her.

Santana made her way to the front. She could feel her heart hammering inside her chest although there was none of the usual feeling of dread, only a desire to do things right. Her face broke into a wide smile, which made the rest of the club draw their chairs back a little in suspicion. Santana just rolled her eyes, undeterred. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"This song is for my boyfriend, Brett Pierce."

As the first notes were plucked out of the guitar, Santana, still with a huge smile on her face, turned her gaze to Brett, who also had a huge grin on his face.

_Daydreamer  
__sitting on the sea, soaking up the sun,  
__he is a real lover  
__of making up the past and feeling up his girl  
__like he's never felt her figure before._

Brett's face pinked as he probably remembered the night before, or rather the nights ever since they had confessed their love to each other. There was just so much love and pride in his eyes, like he was feeling so lucky at having his girlfriend sing a song to him.

Santana shook her head at that; she was the one who was lucky here.

_Daydreamer  
__with eyes that make you melt, he lends his coat  
__for shelter  
__plus he's there for you when he shouldn't be  
__but he stays all the same and waits for you  
__and sees you through._

Santana could feel the truth in the lyrics, remembering all those times when Brett waited for her patiently to realize things on her own.

For so long she had been afraid of being different to the point that she had changed much of herself, and almost forsook Brett. But then she realized that in the end, what mattered was to find somebody who would hold her hand and not be afraid to be different with her, and to be able to do the same for him.

_There's no way I  
__could describe him;  
__what I'll say is  
__just what I'm hoping for._

She didn't need other people's approval, not when she could have somebody love her the way Brett loved her, or rather, have someone like Brett love her.

_But I will find him sittin' on my doorstep,  
__waiting for a surprise  
__and he will feel like he's been there for hours._

As long as she had him, being different wasn't so bad after all.

_And I can tell that he'll be there for life.  
__I can tell that he'll be there for life._

And she could only hope that in those other worlds, if they existed, she wasn't as stupid as she was in this one.

Because a world in which she and Brett didn't end up together was a world not worth being in.

But somehow she knew, deep in her heart, that they would always found their way to each other.

They were soulmates, after all.

* * *

**A/N: Title taken from Naya Rivera's tweet. Songs used are Gin Blossoms' "'Til I Hear It From You" and Adele's "Daydreamer."**


	2. Le Temps Perdus et Retrouvé

**Le Temps Perdus et Retrouvé  
**_Bretton Pierce x Santiago Lopez_

* * *

**[Prelude]**

Bretton Pierce didn't really keep a lot of secrets from his family. His parents were the best, always supportive and encouraging of his endeavours, and his younger sister, Hailey, well, she could be a brat sometimes but it was also pretty obvious that she adored him. As such, he bared his thoughts and plans to them, maybe not always verbally but then each family seemed to have their own cool special language that was a mix of telepathy, touch and weird gurgling sounds they randomly make (which always freaked out those who heard them) that only they could use, so they understood each other pretty well.

But like everyone else, Brett Pierce has a couple of secrets, but perhaps none as closely guarded as the earliest one he had kept:

He was building a time-machine.

It had all started when he was really little, maybe four or five, and he would go out in the garden (if the Pierces were at home) or wander around by the edge of the lake or forest (if they were at a picnic) or he would make his rounds in the museums (if they were at one of the Pierce Family's Cultural Upliftment Project) and he would find something of interest and he would just look at it, in what seemed to him only to be a few seconds, a minute at the most, but what his parents would insist was hours. At first, he didn't believe them but when the time lapse was supported by the clocks and the changes in the sky outside, he began to wonder how it all came about.

"Where were you, Brett?" his parents would jokingly ask him.

He would blink his eyes owlishly, take a deep breath and begin describing the worlds he had gone to in those brief moments—the tiny creatures who lived under the mushrooms in the garden, with their red, round bodies and white beards, like mini Santa Clauses, carrying with them various oddities such as a grain of rice, or a kernel of corn, or a cube of sugar, and who were too busy to stop and talk to Brett, but some of them would nod in greeting but before he could nod back, they would turn away and continue in their task; the other time, he was introduced by the little fishies to the underwater realm where mountains of corals twisted and turned whichever way ,forming a beautiful castle where their shy Queen stayed all day and all night, and which he was barred from entering because he was not one of them, but as if to compensate for this, he was given a tour around the garden of sea weeds, which in spite of their wild growth, still managed to look captivating with the way they waved gracefully following the disturbances that he caused as he wandered around, and which was the playground of fishes with scales of glistening shades of gold, silver, dreamy purple, burning red; one time he had found himself as small as ant compared to the gigantic trees that extended almost as far as the blue dome of the sky, sunlight being filtered by the canopy provided by their leaves, creating patches of light which were delightfully warm, but what was the crowning glory of this place were the songs that the mockingbirds and nightingales sang, which moved him so that his limbs began moving in a rhythmic dance; and still at another, he was in an ever-changing landscape of vivid clarity at one moment, then of the stippled colors the next, followed by the soft melding strokes or the thick, dry, heavy ones of agitation.

Yes, he would begin describing all these fantastic places he had been to but he could never progress beyond "I was at the—" before words would fail him and they would end up garbled. The first time this happened, he had been so abashed that he burst into tears, and it took his parents hours to hush him, his mother telling him, "It's all right, baby boy. You're just learning your words; you'll find them soon enough."

But he didn't, not really. Or at least the words he found were never enough. Nevertheless, Mr. and Mrs. Pierce did their best to meet him halfway so they reached a comfortable and yet not-enough compromise, and Brett found small solace in certain words he had managed to hold on to (words that had a magical ring to it, like 'sparkle' and 'rainbow' and 'unicorns' and 'dwarves').

However, the disappointment and hurt still remained and may have even increased despite all of their best efforts.

That is, until he pondered over the puzzle of time, the apparent disparity between what he had experienced and what his parents and the world were telling him.

The idea that there was a breach in time that only he could have access to, a breach that enabled him to have a glimpse of these wonderful worlds, it made Brett think of building something that would give him another opportunity, a longer one, to visit these places again, in the hopes that maybe, if he had just enough time in these dimensions, he would be able to come up with the right words to describe them to his parents. Even better, maybe he could take his parents with him.

He was going to build a time-machine.

Even at such a young age, he knew that this wasn't something he could build overnight, or even over the summer. It would take time, and as such, he didn't see it fit to tell his parents, not until it was finished. Besides, talking was already difficult as it is, and there were still so many things to figure out. Yes, building his time-machine was going to take a while, maybe a long while.

And he soon found out that the while was going to be even longer. He was to go to school.

When he had first protested to his parents, Mr. Pierce only said, "But you'll learn things in school, and you'll be meeting new kids and make friends."

Well, it was kind of lonely trying to figure out stuff on his own. Maybe some other kids experienced the same things he did when he was at the backyard, garden, lake and museum. Maybe they could work things out together. Maybe the stuff that they teach in school would help him figure out how to build his machine. Maybe the teachers would be able to give him the information he needed.

Maybe the while wouldn't be so long after all.

But school wasn't what he had thought it would be.

At first, it was just to learn how to read and write and do arithmetic (which weren't so bad as long as he could do the last two with crayons) and basic school stuff. These Brett did patiently, even when it was getting more and more obvious with each passing day that he was having difficulties. There were just so many things going on inside his head that he soon found himself lagging behind schoolwork and his comprehension level just barely meeting the minimum to pass each test. His parents worried about his 'poor-to-mediocre' performance in school but even if Brett was dull with academic stuff, he wasn't dull with people stuff and he knew his parents didn't need the additional burden of his scholastic difficulties on top of their jobs and a baby on-the-way.

So he learned to shrug his shoulders and say with a smile, "It's all right, Mom, Dad. Don't worry about me."

The academic stuff was just one part of it. The kids he went to school with was another. Ah, his peers. Any hope that he had of finding others who saw things the way he did disappeared within the first week. What he had found instead were kids who could be mean and cruel to those they sensed were different from them, and Brett, with his dreamy eyes and seeming fixation with 'fairy tales' (as those kids called his attempts at describing the world he had been to) and absurd notions of time-travelling, was the paragon of difference. He soon learned how to cope, and to limit himself from blurting out his thoughts and ideas. He found that he just had to do what the rest of the kids were doing, watch the shows they were watching, care about things that they cared about and his quirks would be overlooked for the most part. (These he could do for appearance's sake, but underneath it all, he still worked out the details of his time-machine.)

All in all, Brett thought that things could have been better, but they also could have been worse, so he couldn't really complain. Besides, he had discovered something which he enjoyed doing (and which he could share with other people), other than working out the details of time-travelling.

Dancing.

Because as it turned out, Brett was really good at dance. He should have known, really, since he had been shaking his groove thing ever since he was two years old. He loved the feeling of letting his body take over, of his mind emptying of thoughts, of having nothing but the beat of the music to guide him. It was the only time that he really felt free.

(As the while became longer and longer, working on his machine had become more and more taxing; he still wanted it like he had never wanted anything else before, but god, it was so difficult—figuring out the factors that affect time, isolating them and coming up with contraptions that would manipulate them for a breach to be possible, etc.)

Apparently, dancing opened up doors that were closed to him because of his less-than-average academic performance. For one, he began performing in school shows, during assemblies, Teachers' Day, Parents' Day, Intramurals, Christmas Shows, etc. And for these, even the most begrudging of all teachers gave him a free pass on his subjects so he managed to move from one grade level to another with little trouble (and at the same time, easing the minds of his parents who weren't really aware of this arrangement).

Another thing was the respect (and admittedly, envy as well) that he was accorded by his peers. He soon became quite popular, being so talented and all. It also helped that he wasn't the type to brag about his achievements, nor lord it over everyone else. He would just smile and say a vague remark like "Elephants have good memories" which wouldn't make sense to the other kids, but which they were pleased to accept as an indication of his dimness, which in turn made them feel better since it made up for his incredible talent and skill in dancing. There was still justice in the world after all.

By the time he was nine years old, Brett had managed to more or less have a working segregation of his time-travelling project and the outward appearance to cope with everyday.

He had no accomplice except for that tiny kitten he had rescued from the cardboard box outside the grocery store one rainy day, and which he had christened 'Lord Tubbington' for his regal aura (despite being a guttersnipe) and for the hopes that his scrawny frame would fill up. (He would have gladly included his younger sister, Hailey, but she was too loud and annoying at times—no, most of the time—and he knew he would just be dividing his time between explaining to her the equations and the various parts he was building secretly in their garage and in the basement and in his room, and of trying to rein her in from blurting everything to their parents. Little sisters, so much trouble.)

So, alone with Lord Tubbington, (who he sometimes suspected was lynching his machine parts and selling it for drugs) Bretton Pierce worked on his time-machine.

**xxx**

**[1 April 2002 | 3:27PM – Lima Heights Adjacent]**

The Pierces were on their way home from the grocery store, and true to the Pierce tradition of driving around when none of them were in a hurry, they made their way through the streets of Lima, even passing by the so-called shady neighborhood of Lima Heights Adjacent (which, really, wasn't so bad at all—definitely not posh and some of the houses did look like they housed rather louche characters, but there were some nice, respectable-looking houses here and there). As they passed one of the houses, the one near the edge of the area, and in fact just a few blocks away from the Pierce house, they noticed a moving van in front of it and tons of boxes near the sidewalk.

A tall olive-skinned man with black hair streaked with gray was talking to one of the movers, gesturing to the house. The tall man carried himself with such an aura of authority that Brett couldn't help but stare at him. Then he noticed the two people beside the man: a petite woman who was still very beautiful and who moved with such a quiet grace that Brett was sure she was once a dancer—Brett guessed that she was the wife of the tall man; beside her was a boy around Brett's age, olive-skinned like the taller man, and who was scowling with his arms crossed over his chest. The boy raised his eyes to the Pierce car as it passed by, meeting Brett's who had his face pressed against the window.

When Brett saw him looking, he gave his widest smile and waved at him, like they were old friends. It may be the first time they've ever laid eyes on each other, but Brett knew how lonely it must be to be in a new place, knowing no one. Besides, the boy had already looked a little sad, the way his eyes would flick over to his father, who was too busy directing the movers to notice.

The boy's scowl disappeared and his eyebrows were raised at the enthusiastic welcome from a stranger in a car. But just as Mr. Pierce took a turn around the corner, Brett saw the boy raise his hand tentatively, as if to wave back, before disappearing from view.

That made Brett keep his smile for the rest of the day.

**xxx**

**[22 April 2002 | 4:12PM – Playground]**

Plans had been laid out for the end-of-the-schoolyear ceremonies and it was decided that a select group from Brett's class would give a dance performance, which Brett would choreograph. He didn't really mind even when it meant he had to take some time off from his machine-building; in fact, being given responsibilities—and for dancing too!—made him happy.

If only the other kids would just follow through his proposed moves.

"It's too difficult, Brett!" whined Billy, a wiry red-head, as he bent over, his hands on his knees, panting.

"Yeah," came the tired chorus from the others who comprised the dancing group.

Brett squinted against the softening glare of the afternoon sun, as he wiped the sweat forming on his forehead. Due to the higher grade levels' rehearsals for their own presentations, their group was forced to take refuge on the playground. The tall trees that fringed the area made it cooler and Brett supposed, as he looked at his groupmates, the moves were really _that_ difficult if they were sweating this much.

But he really wanted to push through with the routine; he thought they would look really cool.

"All right, everybody, take five!" He walked over to the side where a cassette that the school had lent them was and turned it off.

The group gave a collective sigh of relief and they started to head to the shade, separating in clusters, leaving Brett alone in the playground. He ran his hand through his short blond hair and wondered what changes he could afford to make. He let his body recreate the moves with only the music in his head to guide him. Maybe instead of a drop following the twirl, they could just make a sliding step to the right, and—

"Jeez, such a show-off."

"Yeah, just because he moves like a worm he acts all so high-and-mighty."

"That's all he has anyway, being dumb as a brick."

Brett froze as the wind carried the voices from the edge of the playground where a bunch of his groupmates had gathered. He turned to look at them and saw Billy eyeing him with such pure undisguised hatred that he flinched.

He should have been used to this by now, but it stung nevertheless. He closed his eyes tight and tried to even out his breathing. 'Focus on the dance, focus, focus.' He tried doing the steps again but the words from the edge became louder and tauntingly clear.

"Oh look, trying to make the steps even more difficult so that he'd look better!"

"It's really irritating how a little praise here and there makes one so full of himself."

"Teacher's little idiot pet."

That did it. Brett stopped moving and he turned his face to the opposite direction from where Billy and his friends were. He could feel his eyes stinging with tears until he saw standing only a few steps away was the olive-skinned boy who had moved with his family to Lima Heights Adjacent. The boy, like before, has his arms crossed over his chest and he was scowling. When he saw Brett looking at him, he gave a small start. His brows furrowed even further, as if debating something inside him. Then he uncrossed his arms and walked towards him.

Brett wondered if the boy remembered him from a few weeks ago, or if he had somehow decided to hate him now (for no reason, which happened pretty often, by the way). The scowl on the boy's face seemed to indicate the latter, and Brett braced himself for a shove. When the boy was only two steps away, Brett screwed his eyes closed and waited for the hands on his chest.

"Do you want me to beat them up for you?"

Brett's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the voice. He looked at the boy in confusion.

The boy still held that frown but he was eyeing at the group behind Brett and not at Brett himself. He felt his breath catch. "W-What?"

The boy shifted his eyes back to Brett and Brett couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful shade of brown in them, made more brilliant by the sunlight. They were like coffee with only a dash of milk, dark and with that glassy quality that made eyes so beautiful to look at, especially when they had the look of determination and intense emotion like this boy had.

A look that Brett didn't understand. "I-I… who are you?"

The boy's eyes widened slightly, as if in surprise, but which he quickly covered up with a gruff "Nobody" before starting to turn away. Brett's hand flew to his shoulder on instinct. "T-That's not what I meant! I remember you from Lima Heights—"

The boy stopped. He faced Brett again and this time the scowl softened a bit.

"Do you want to sit?" Brett asked, gesturing to one of the benches nearby.

The boy nodded. They went over to the bench, the one near the sandlot, and which put the slide in between them and the part of the playground where Billy and his group were. Brett sat Indian-style facing the boy, who sat with his feet on the ground but his body turned slightly so as to face Brett.

Brett couldn't help but smile widely now that he knew the boy wasn't out to shove him around. He held out his hand. "I'm Bretton Pierce, but everyone calls me Brett."

The boy's eyes flickered between the extended hand and Brett's eyes and then back again before taking it and shaking it twice, like how they do it in those old movies. "Santiago Lopez."

"Santiago… Santiago…" Brett liked how the name rolled on his tongue. "That's a really nice name. But it's kinda long. Do you have a nickname?"

The boy's eyes narrowed slightly. He shook his head.

"You don't really talk much, do you?" When the boy, Santiago, didn't reply, Brett continued. "But I'm still glad though. When I first saw you the other week, I knew I wanted to be friends with you, and now we are." Then he added with a grin. "It's like fate has laid a hand."

"Friends…" Santiago seemed to be testing the weight of the word on his tongue. His brows furrowed again into a frown, but not as harsh as the one earlier. A softer one, like more of confusion.

"Yeah, we are. Friends." Brett nodded his head, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. Because it was. "So, where are you guys from?"

"Miami." Santiago paused. Brett wondered if he also found it difficult to find words, but something in the way Santiago spoke indicated that it wasn't that. "My father was transferred to the Lima General Hospital."

"Cool! Your dad's a doctor?" Santiago nodded. "It must be amazing, him saving people's lives and all."

A soft, proud smile graced Santiago's features and Brett thought for a moment how he would like to see Santiago smile a bit—no, a lot more.

"Where do you go to school?"

"I'm starting at Maplewood this September."

"Oh, I go there too. Well, we," Brett gestured to his scattered groupmates, "all do. What grade will you be in?"

Santiago shifted uncomfortably, probably not used to being asked too many questions by a kid his own age. "Fourth grade."

Brett grinned. "We'll be in the same grade then. Hopefully in the same class, too."

"Hey, Brett?" A small skinny boy approached them, but stopping within five feet. His eyes shifted ever so constantly, not meeting Brett's eyes for longer than a second, and he was gripping the sling of his backpack tightly. "Uh… Billy and the others have all went home… so the practice is over, right?"

For a full minute, Brett could only feel his heart plummet and his entire body growing numb. He should have known really. His eyes scanned the area for their other groupmates but it only served to confirm the small boy's words. His mouth went dry even as his eyes start to water.

"Brett?"

"U-Uh, y-yeah," Brett croaked out. "Practice is over."

The small boy nodded and abruptly left the playground without giving them a second glance. Brett's shoulders slumped and he wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm. Despite his best efforts, a sniffle managed to escape his lips and he grit his teeth. He shouldn't cry now, not in front of his new friend.

"S-Sorry," he hiccupped. "J-Just gimme a m-minute…"

"Here." A white handkerchief with two thin blue stripes in the corner was thrust to him. Brett looked up to see Santiago holding it out while his face was turned towards the slide, as if providing him with a modicum of privacy. Brett couldn't help but think how grown-up and serious his new friend was, but he took the proffered handkerchief with a small "Thank you."

As he wiped away his tears (and a bit of his snot) Brett took the liberty to really look at Santiago. Santiago had the blackest hair that Brett had ever seen. It was like the complete utter darkness on a moonless night in the forest, with nothing, not even a lamp to guide one's way. Santiago's profile was sharp, and his lips were plump, which only made Brett wonder how comfortable they must be to touch. Like marshmallows maybe.

"They're a bunch of jealous assholes."

"Huh?" Brett blinked, as he moved his gaze from Santiago's lips to his eyes, which were still fixed on the slide.

"Those other kids. Fucking assholes." Santiago looked away from the slide and turned to Brett. His face was unreadable, with only a hint of a frown on his brows. Brett wondered how someone who was so stiff and formal could say such bad words/mean names so casually. Nevertheless, a smile slowly found its way to his face.

"Thank you."

Santiago's brows furrowed even further, as if puzzled at being thanked for calling a bunch of kids assholes. He stared into Brett's eyes but after a while, he hastily turned back to the slide again. "You're… uh… you're a great dancer," Santiago mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "The best one I've seen."

It wasn't like Brett had never been complimented for his dancing before; he had, a number of times, mostly from teachers and parents—grown-ups. But he rarely got compliments from kids his own age; if they ever came close to saying something nice about his dancing, it was almost always laced with venom. Yet somehow, Brett felt that this time, being complimented by this serious boy, was very different, and he felt his heart warm at the words. Not to mention the boy seemed oddly embarrassed in saying those words, which Brett thought was cute.

And in that moment, he had an epiphany of sorts, similar to when he first conceived of the idea to build his time machine. He put down the handkerchief and inched closer to Santiago who was still not looking at him. When there were only a few inches between them, he touched Santiago by the shoulder. Santiago nearly jumped out of the bench at the sudden close proximity but when Brett beckoned him to come closer, he didn't hesitate to lean towards him.

"I—I'll tell you a secret."

Santiago's eyes flickered between Brett's, as if trying to get a read on him. After a gulp or two, he nodded. Brett could hear his blood pounding in his ears. This wasn't something he had done before, and he was starting to feel afraid that he would be making himself vulnerable to this strange boy by revealing something he held so dearly. Before he could lose his nerve, Brett closed his eyes and counted three heartbeats before opening them again. He locked his eyes into Santiago's waiting brown ones.

"I'm building a time-machine," he whispered confidentially.

For a moment, he feared that Santiago would either laugh at him or just knit his brows, look at him with bewilderment, and either shove him (this time for sure) to the ground or say, "That's stupid."

But Santiago did none of those. After a few seconds of thought, his brown eyes held Brett's blue ones, and with utmost, almost grave, sincerity, he said, "That's amazing."

Baffled, and yet pleased at the same time, Brett grabbed Santiago's hands and squeezed them. He could also feel his face ready to split in two with the huge grin he was wearing. Santiago, for his part, seemed flustered by the sudden show of affection, and jutted out his lower lip and pouted, which only made Brett want to hug him. And so he did.

He felt Santiago stiffen in his arms and for a moment, Brett was afraid that this time he was really going to shove him off, but it didn't last long and Santiago melted into the embrace and even patted Brett awkwardly in the back.

Emboldened, Brett said, "When it's done, I'm gonna take you with me."

When Brett finally released Santiago, he found him smiling. And Brett noticed for the first time the dimples that appeared on Santiago's cheeks when he smiled. It made Brett's heart flutter. But what Santiago said made his heart flutter even more.

"I can hardly wait."

**xxx**

**[28 April 2003 | 5:02 PM; 6:53 PM – Pierce House]**

Things had gotten a bit—no, a whole lot better at school now that Brett and Santiago were a two-shot. For one, Brett had stopped feeling so alone anymore—what with him and Santiago spending most of their time together in classes, during lunch and break times and even in rehearsals for school shows (it sure helped that Santiago was a pretty good dancer himself, though definitely Brett was in a league of his own).

Another thing was that kids like Billy have stopped (overtly) picking on Brett at the risk of getting pummelled by Santiago (which really happened just once).

But what Brett loved most now that he and Santiago were friends was that he was finding it a thousand times easier to learn things when he was with him. Well true, he still lagged behind in academics, but he was making awesome progress in building his time-machine. Like the other week, they were poring over some books on gravity and atomic clocks that Santiago had borrowed from the library when they found out that in places where the gravitational pull was stronger, time would go slower. Furthermore, Santiago pointed out that areas with heavy igneous rocks had higher gravimetric readings—which translated to them clandestinely collecting granite every Friday afternoon and stashing them under Brett's bed. For experiment.

This Friday afternoon, however, Brett had left school alone and hurried home. He went straight to his room, successfully evading his mom who was in the garden busy talking with their neighbor, Mrs. Vaughan.

Brett threw his bag to one side as he leaned against the door until it closed with a thud. He slid down against it until he was on the floor. Lord Tubbington, who was perched at the windowsill looking outside (Brett thinks that LT doubles as a spy, when he wasn't dipping his paws in the drug-dealing business—weird combination, he knew), turned to watch him. After half-a-minute of staring at each other, Brett let out a half-hearted laugh.

"Hey, Tubbs." He extended his arm towards the cat, his palm up. With one bound, Lord Tubbington leapt from the sill to the floor and he quickly yet gracefully (for his expanding figure) made his way to Brett. The cat nuzzled Brett's palm, then his leg before climbing up his lap, purring all the while.

"You seem to be in a good mood. Caught some bad guys today?" asked Brett, as he scratched the cat behind his ears. After a few minutes, he spoke again. "I got called to the teachers' office today. You know Mr. Rigby, right? My Science teacher? He… well, he talked to me, and he was kinda angry… and you know how I get when I'm with angry people, right, Tubbs? I just zoned out so I didn't really get to figure out what he was angry about. I mean I know I haven't been doing pretty well in my classes, but all the other teachers didn't seem to mind. And… you know, I kinda have an idea why he was mad though." Purr. "Yeah, you got it. I think it's the essay part of the last exam, where I just put in just a bit of… what we've been working on. I remember now… Mr. Rigby was saying that never before had he encountered someone like me, to which I said 'Like a unicorn' and then his whole face twitched like he was about to explode. He rambled on and on and even though he never said the s-word, the way he was talking to me made me feel the same way as if he had said it. And… I know, I shouldn't let it bother me but, it never stopped hurting, you know?" Brett let out a sigh. "He said that if it was up to him, he would have me repeat fourth grade."

Lord Tubbington got up and stretched his spine before jumping off Brett's lap and onto the bed. Brett smiled a little. "Yeah, I should just probably sleep this off."

Brett got up and followed his cat to his bed and threw himself on it. He kicked off his shoes and snuggled into the covers, without even removing his socks. It didn't take long before he fell asleep.

Only to be woken up by his mother who was shaking him gently by the shoulder. "Brett? Brett, honey? Are you all right?" Brett's eyelids fluttered open as his eyes struggled to focus. His room was dark, but the door was slightly ajar, pouring in a stream of light from the hallway. His eyes flickered to his mom, who was looking at him worriedly. She pressed her hand on his forehead. "Are you feeling sick?"

Brett shook his head even as he felt his eyes starting to water. He scrunched his eyes closed again, faking a yawn. He then rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, as if to wipe away the remnants of sleep. "Whattimeisit?" he mumbled.

Mrs. Pierce watched him carefully before drawing him to her, hugging him. She pressed a soft kiss against the top of his head. "Almost dinnertime, sweetie." She drew back and smiled. "And you have a guest."

Brett blinked. "Guest?"

"Your friend, Santiago."

In a flash, Brett was under the covers. Mrs. Pierce touched the blanketed lump. "Don't you want to see him, honey?"

After wriggling under the covers for a minute, Brett's tousled blond hair peeked out followed by his troubled blue eyes. He searched his mother's face for the right answer. She patted his head. "It's all right if you don't want to see him. I'll just tell him you're sick. But," Mrs. Pierce smiled her secretive smile. "He did bring some books with him. And an apple pie."

Brett could feel a lump growing in his throat. "I-I'll see him."

Mrs. Pierce smile widened to a grin. "Okay, I'll send him up." She stood up and made her way to the door. Before she left, she turned to him and raised a finger. "But the pie's for after dinner."

A small laugh bubbled out of Brett's lips, making Mrs. Pierce chuckle before leaving the room.

In less than a minute, Santiago was by the door. The lights were still off so all Brett could make out was his silhouette.

"Can I turn on the lights?"

Brett nodded before remembering that Santiago probably could not see him. "Yes," he said in a small voice.

The lights stuttered before settling into a steady glow that bathed the whole room. Brett covered his eyes, having forgotten how painful the sudden brightness usually was. He heard footsteps approach his bed and the heavy thud of a pile of books dropped to the floor. When he felt that his eyes have finally adjusted to the light, he blinked thrice before removing his hands. Standing beside his bed was Santiago, still in the same red shirt with two white vertical stripes on the right side and blue jeans he wore earlier that day. His brows were furrowed.

(This actually made Brett's heart drop a little since for the past year he had been on a stealth campaign to permanently remove Santiago's scowl and replace it with his dimpled smile. And he was actually making great progress.)

"H-Hey," greeted Brett with forced enthusiasm.

"It's Mr. Rigby, isn't it?" When Brett didn't answer, Santiago continued, "That little turd Billy spied on you and was telling his little shit friends about what happened." Brett eyed him apprehensively, to which Santiago's mouth twisted into a little smirk. "I didn't beat them up but I did give Billy something to worry about for the next few days."

Despite Brett's stance against violence, he couldn't help but feel touched at Santiago's protectiveness. He gave a small smile. "Thanks, San."

The smirk disappeared and the frown deepened as Santiago studied Brett's face. Brett shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "Uh, you want to sit down?" Brett offered awkwardly. Without breaking eye contact, Santiago sat himself down on the bed.

"Why'd you leave without me?"

Well, Brett wasn't expecting that. He coughed a little before ducking his head. He could feel his face heating up. "I was… embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?"

When Brett didn't continue, Santiago nudged his knee with his. "Hey," said Santiago in a softer voice.

Brett lifted his face reluctantly but resolutely kept his eyes on the space beside Santiago's head. "I didn't want you to think I'm…" Brett gulped before continuing in a whisper, "an idiot."

Santiago's frown turned into his signature scowl. "You know I'd never think that! You're not an idiot!" Brett just shook his head even as he felt his heart flutter a little. "You know Mr. Rigby's the idiot here, right?" Santiago continued.

Brett gave a hollow laugh. "There's no need to twist things like that, San. I know. I mean I've always known that I'm st—"

"Listen to me, Brett." Santiago grabbed Brett by the shoulders until they were looking at each other eye-to-eye. "You're a genius; you gotta believe me. Hearing you talk about your ideas, especially your propositions to alter the curvature of space-time, come on—who else can think of those kinds of stuff?"

"Propo-curvy-what?" Brett wrinkled his nose. "I never said that."

"Your time-travelling idea, Brett!" Santiago's eyes were burning with excitement. "When I asked Papi about the details of time-travelling, mentioning the equations and factors that you have singled out, he looked at me all funny and said that he never expected me to know anything about the Theory of Relativity and he went on explaining about the space-time curvature—"

"San, slow down, I can't keep up with you!"

Santiago took a deep, calming breath. When he spoke, it was now in a much calmer voice, though the look in his brown eyes was still intense. "Think about it, Brett. Even Thomas Edison was called 'addled' by his teachers and he invented the phonograph and the incandescent electric light. Trust me, you're going to do great things. I just know it."

Brett cocked his head to one side. "But being called a fruit doesn't seem bad. I'd rather be called 'banana' too."

Santiago's frown softened into that of confusion before everything clicked inside his head. Then he laughed.

He _laughed_.

Brett felt a tingling sensation all over his body at the sound of his friend's laughter. It wasn't very often that he heard Santiago laugh; in fact, if his smiles were rare, his laughter was even rarer. Brett couldn't explain it but there was just something so sweet and uplifting in Santiago's laughter—it was never mocking, but always sincere and heartfelt, like Santiago's brown eyes. Whenever Brett heard this laugh, he felt that he could do anything, that everything was definitely going to be okay, that… God was in His heaven and all was right with the world (this was actually Mr. Pierce's favorite phrase, next to 'cowabunga' and 'betcha-by-golly-wow'). Ever since he first heard it, Brett knew he would do anything to keep on hearing it.

"I think 'blueberry' suits you better," said Santiago, once his laughter subsided. His eyes were still glowing with mirth, which was another reason why Brett loved it when he laughed.

Brett pouted. "It's a mouthful."

Santiago smiled and nodded in agreement. They remained in this happy bubble before Brett remembered the thread of their conversation. "So, what else did your father say?" he asked almost shyly. It was pretty obvious how much Santiago looked up to his father and this admiration pretty much leaked out to Brett as well.

Santiago couldn't help the grin on his face, making his dimples more pronounced. "Well, he said," Santiago wrinkled his brows and lowered his voice until it was a deep bass, "'Mijo, I thought you'd be following my footsteps and be a doctor; but I see that your interest in physics might make you into a physicist instead, an astrophysicist, I think. No matter, I support your dreams, my smart boy.'" Santiago reverted back to his normal voice. "And I laughed and said, 'No, Papi, it's Brett who's gonna be an astrophysicist!' And I almost said, 'Even better he's gonna be a time-traveller' but I remembered you wanted it to be a secret so I didn't."

"You really think that, San?" Brett asked, blushing. "That I can be an astrophysicist?"

"And a time-traveller," Santiago nodded solemnly. "I know so."

"Boys! It's time for dinner!"

As Santiago got up, Brett caught his hand. "Is it true you brought pie?"

"Yeah, Mami gets into a baking spree some days, and today's one of those days."

Brett wasn't sure what made him ask the question, maybe it was the way Santiago tilted his head to the side, which usually indicated he was both embarrassed and proud at the same time, or maybe it was the way he said the word baking, like it was an incredibly precious term. But anyway, he asked, "Do you bake, too?"

Santiago rubbed the back of his neck as he looked away. Brett almost didn't catch the mumbled "…yeah."

Brett felt the fluttering feeling in his chest again. "Did you help bake this one?"

Santiago furrowed his brows, as if irritated by the question but Brett knew better. By now, he could catalogue Santiago's frowns and smiles and facial expressions, and the frown he was wearing now was definitely a fake one. The fluttering grew stronger. He got up and tugged Santiago's hand as they made their way to the door.

"Thank you, San," Brett whispered.

"You're welcome," came the even softer reply.

**xxx**

**[20 September 2007 | 4:35 PM – Maplewood]**

Brett had started taking dance classes upon the recommendation of his PE teacher, who told his parents that he had a natural gift which should be nurtured. So after school, instead of heading straight home, he went to the dance studio for the classes. The variety of classes that the studio offered made Brett dizzy with delight and excitement when he first learned of them—and he told his parents that he'd like to try street dance, hip-hop and jazz, please. But his father told him that it would be best if he just focused on one or two at a time. Brett ended up taking jazz and ballet on alternate days, which he really didn't mind so much after having a glimpse of the classes.

When Brett told Santiago about this, he noted that the smile when his friend said "Congratulations, Brett; that's really great!" didn't really reach his eyes.

"Is anything wrong, San?"

Santiago ran his hand through his short black hair before lifting his backpack over his left shoulder. Brett waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"San?"

Santiago looked at his wristwatch before finally saying, "Look, I've gotta go." He smiled but again, Brett noted that it was strained.

"Where are you going?"

Santiago's features tensed a little, in that way that Brett knew indicated that he was about to… not say the entire truth. Santiago never really lied to Brett, but there were times when he would get evasive with his answers, especially when they were about his family. So Brett had learned not to pry on this aspect of Santiago's life. But this time, Brett couldn't make heads or tails out of Santiago's shiftiness. He frowned.

"Did I say something wrong?" Brett asked, cutting off whatever answer Santiago might have been thinking of supplying.

"It's… look, it's nothing. Really."

Brett looked at him skeptically before it finally hit him. He grabbed Santiago by the wrist. "You can come watch, if you want."

Santiago furrowed his brows and he pressed his lips together. Brett knew this look. It was one of his favorites, the one that usually meant that Santiago was either embarrassed or pleased or both. Even after five years of friendship, Santiago still held back a lot of things, but Brett didn't mind so much. Part of the fun of being friends with Santiago was trying to get a read on his facial expressions and body language.

"Come see me dance." Brett locked his eyes to Santiago's clear brown ones. He had learned early on that one way to get Santiago to agree to anything was to keep eye contact. When the corners of Santiago's lips quirked up into a reluctant smile, Brett knew he won.

"What time's your class?" Santiago asked. It was all that Brett could do not to pump his fist into the air.

They started walking. "It's at five. I'm gonna run home real quick to grab my tights; I forgot them this morning."

"You wear… tights?"

Brett quirked an eyebrow. "Well yeah. It _is_ ballet." He looked at Santiago carefully. Santiago was biting his lip and his brows were slightly knitted. This was something new. Brett didn't know what to make of this expression. He filed this away for later. "Want to run home with me? Or do I just meet you at the studio?"

Santiago stopped. "You know what? I'll just come over another time. I… I forgot to do some chores."

Before Brett could stop him, Santiago sprinted off, leaving him alone on the sidewalk.

**xxx**

**[18 March 2008 | 4:38 PM – Maplewood; 5:01 PM – Dance Studio; 6:15 PM – Dressing Room]**

It took more than six months before Brett finally convinced Santiago to come watch him during class.

Brett didn't like not spending time with Santiago after school anymore. For some reason, shortly after Brett started taking his dance classes, Santiago had started hanging out with the likes of Noah Puckerman, Finn Hudson, and Matt Rutherford, going to the gym and running some laps at the oval.

When Brett asked him about this over lunch one time, Santiago didn't quite meet his eyes as he muttered, "I'll be trying out for the football team next year."

That took Brett by surprise. And frankly didn't make much sense until Mike Chang, who was his secret dance buddy (ever since he found him dancing alone in the empty classroom), explained that it would look good on one's records when one applied for college, showing that one could balance academics with athletics. It was what Mike himself was going to do.

"Not to mention it will immediately put you in the popular group," Mike added.

Brett had frowned at that. "I don't think I'd mind so much if I'm popular or not."

"Oh but you will." Mike tapped his foot on the hardwood floor of the room which served as their classroom for dance in Maplewood. Despite the fact that Mike could dance just as well as Brett, he didn't take dancing classes because his parents weren't exactly supportive. When Brett found out about this, he realized once again how lucky he was to have his parents.

"What do you mean?" Brett asked when instead of continuing what he was saying, Mike started doing spins.

"They say the bullying's pretty bad in high school, especially when you're not one of the popular kids. Slushy facials, shoving in the lockers, throwing into the dumpsters—the works. I mean, even if it wouldn't reflect on my records, I'd still be trying out for the football team too just to avoid any of those."

Brett laughed. "Aren't you exaggerating?"

Mike stopped spinning. He looked at Brett through the mirror and shrugged. "Never hurts to be on the safe side." He went over to the corner where his duffel bag lay and took out a bottle of water. After taking a swig, he asked, "By the way, are you still serious about learning French?"

"Yeah, I just figured that since the ballet terms are in French, might as well learn the language, right? I mean why just get the marshmallows when you can get a box full of Lucky Charms?"

Mike frowned. "But are you sure? I'm not demeaning you or anything but don't you have enough on your plate with schoolwork?"

Brett shrugged. "I'm pretty good with extra-curricular activities. I'm awesome at dance, I know every cat disease and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna kick ass at French. I'm a genius; Santiago says so."

A smile made its way on Mike's lips. "You and Santiago are really close, huh?"

"He's my best friend," said Brett simply. He checked the time on his watch. "Crap, I gotta head to the studio now." He picked up his duffel bag by the door. "See you tomorrow?"

Mike nodded with a grin. Brett made a sweeping bow before heading out of the room. He didn't get too far when he bumped into somebody. Brett nearly fell to the floor but he managed to steady himself by holding on to the wall.

"Sorry, I—"

"It's fine; it's just me."

Brett looked up in surprise. Standing before him was Santiago in a white sleeveless shirt. He looked like he just finished working out or running some laps, with his dark hair damp and beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Despite the fact that they still saw each other every day, Brett never really had the opportunity to see Santiago like this, with his arms exposed and slightly bulging with muscles, his pectorals a bit more defined because of the sweaty shirt sticking to his chest, and the faint outline of abs.

It was kinda hot.

"You heading to the studio?"

Brett snapped out of his daze. He blinked three times before his brain processed the question. "Y-Yeah." Then after a beat, he said, "Come watch me dance."

Santiago eyes were fixed on him for a few moments before they darted to Brett's duffel. He bit his lip.

"We're practicing for 'Petrushka,'" added Brett hastily, "and Ms. Tolskaya's gonna pick out the performers today and I know I'm gonna be chosen but it'd really make me feel better if you're there so will you come and watch me dance?"

While Brett was rambling, he had forgotten to breathe, so he took a gulp of air before looking back at Santiago. Santiago's lambent brown eyes, which had widened at the outburst, didn't have that conflicted look (which always appeared whenever Brett invited him to watch) but were instead clear. His features have also softened and he was no longer biting his lip. His mouth lifted in the beginnings of a smile.

Brett stared and in another moment of clarity, he realized that he hadn't seen this side of Santiago—the boy with the clear, earnest brown eyes and dimpled smiles—for quite a while now. It was like the change that came over him had been gradual that Brett didn't notice it until this moment when what once was was brought back in contrast to what he had become. Brett frowned as this realization brought forth some questions like 'what kind of change was it exactly?' and 'why had it occurred?' but his thoughts were cut off when Santiago spoke.

"All right, I'll just wash up and change out of these clothes. I won't be long."

Before Brett knew it, Santiago was gone and he was left alone in the middle of the hallway.

True to his word, Santiago didn't take long and he soon came back, his hair now damp from the shower, with a towel slung over his shoulders. He had changed into a plain black shirt with two red lines intersecting in the middle, like forming a target on his torso. For some reason, Brett felt a little tingly now that he and Santiago were walking in close proximity.

"When's the show gonna be?" asked Santiago as he furiously rubbed the towel against his head to dry his hair.

"This May. It's going to be for our graduation ceremony. Or something like that."

Santiago nodded. He folded up his towel and stuffed it back to his duffel. Brett noted that the tousled-hair look really looked good on him.

"So anyway, what's 'Petrushka' about? I don't think I've heard of that before."

Brett laughed. "That's true. It's the likes of 'Swan Lake' or 'Sleeping Beauty' or 'Giselle' that gets to be staged often. But Ms. Tolskaya wanted to bring to light the lesser-known ballets, and it was either this or 'Coppélia,' which is about this doll sitting by the window that this guy falls in love with. 'Petrushka' is kinda like that, only it's a boy-puppet who feels a lot of things."

"So it's like... Russian Pinnochio?"

Brett smiled as he shook his head. "Not quite. He doesn't turn into a real boy, but he does come to life when the curtain closes. It's mostly a love story, so there are lots of feelings involved." Brett suddenly stopped talking as he felt himself blush, which Santiago didn't see.

"Lots of feelings?"

Brett glanced at Santiago before nodding. "Yes, 'cause you see, he's in love with this Ballerina but she's in love with the Moor, and so he's mostly sad. And then this guy, the puppeteer is so mean to him so Petrushka's kinda angry too."

Santiago grinned. "That sounds really interesting, Brett—wait, so does this mean you're gunning for the lead role?" His voice rose with excitement. Brett felt his heart flutter.

"I'm not shooting anyone," he mumbled, pink tinting his cheeks. But that only made Santiago laugh out loud. Brett's head snapped up as he noticed something. Santiago's laugh seemed a little different, and for a second Brett wondered if it was because he hadn't heard that in quite a while, or if a change had already come over it as well. Brett's brows were drawn together in thought as he became aware of his body's reactions. Yes, there was still the same sensation of butterfly wings beating in his chest whenever he heard Santiago's laugh, but there was something else. That tingly feeling.

"I'm sure you'll get it, Brett. You're awesome."

"You haven't even seen me do ballet," Brett chided automatically.

Santiago's eyes darted towards him. "I was busy." He ducked his head and cleared his throat. "But just because I haven't seen you do it doesn't mean I don't know you'd do great. I've known you for a long time." Santiago smiled his dimpled little-boy smile.

Brett let out a small sigh. Those smiles should be criminalized.

Ms. Tolskaya was very strict with time, as serious performers were, and Brett thanked the heavens when he and Santiago made it to the studio with still a few minutes to spare. Brett ducked towards the changing room, where there was only one or two other guys left changing, to change into his dancewear and ballet shoes while Santiago waited in the hallway.

When Brett was done, he went out into the hallway with a pleased smile and led the way to where Ms. Tolskaya's class was. In that short walk, he could feel Santiago's eyes fixed on him and it made the fluttery-and-tingly feelings intensify, so much so that he felt that he would either barf or implode. Which was weird since this barf-or-implode sensation was what he normally associated with nervousness and he had never really been nervous with dance before. He was good at it. He was awesome at it. But… but what?

When they reached the door, Brett turned abruptly to face Santiago and he caught him with his brown eyes lowered, as if he was looking at Brett's lower body. Brett glanced down at his tights-covered legs, then twisted to check his back.

"Does it look like I have a unibutt?" asked Brett worriedly.

Santiago blinked back in surprise. "U-what?"

"Is it sagging?" Brett ran his hands over his butt. "Are there extra folds on my rear?"

Santiago seemed to have caught on. He bit his lip and shook his head. He cleared his throat before speaking. "No." His voice sounded weird.

"You sure?"

"It's really… tight." Santiago's eyes flickered from Brett's rear to the wall to the ceiling to Brett's face (for a brief millisecond) before finally settling to the floor.

Brett laughed. "Well, they are called tights for a reason."

Santiago just nodded dumbly as they entered the classroom.

Dancing had always been one of those things that came so easily to Brett (in stark contrast to how academic stuff always seemed to scramble his brain worse than the McFlurry mixer). He only had to listen to the music and his body would take over, moving in time with the beat and rhythm, his limbs seemingly taking a mind of their own. And the music he heard didn't necessarily have to come from speakers; there was music within him, music that he hears in his ears even when there was just silence outside or the disorganized sounds of everyday. It was a wonder all on its own, dancing, and Brett was sure he would have devoted his entire life to it if he didn't love building his time-machine more.

(For even when he has had more success in dancing and more frustrations with his time-machine, there was just this pull he couldn't completely explain away with childhood memories.)

After the first fifteen minutes of stretching exercises, they began practicing the dance steps for 'Petrushka' scene-by-scene, with music. Brett didn't have to listen too closely for Ms. Tolskaya's instructions on whether to do a fouette here or a plié there or a jeté or a soubresaut; he had everything memorized by heart. Brett moved with confidence, arching his back, extending his arm in time with the beat, infusing each movement with the despair that the boy-puppet must have felt.

Whenever he was dancing, Brett tuned out everything, and so for most of the hour, he had forgotten that Santiago was there, sitting in the corner, watching his every movement. It was only when he opened his eyes after doing a pirouette, which a clumsy classmate almost botched (which in turn made Ms. Tolskaya curse in Russian), that he noticed Santiago with a look on his face that made Brett's heart stop.

There was just something so raw and primal in the way Santiago was looking at him as he danced. His brown eyes were dark, so dark they almost seemed black, and they watched his every movement so intently, so hungrily, and it made Brett feel something stir inside of him. He immediately cleared his head and focused on the dance steps. Only a few more.

With great difficulty, he focused on the series of échappé-plié and willed himself to be lost in the music once again. But for some reason, he was no longer hearing the music of 'Petrushka'; inside his head, another music was playing, one that seemed so familiar and yet at the same time not. It was like a soft lilting melody that only songbirds like nightingales and mockingbirds could sing—

"Pierce! You're not in time with the beat! Listen!"

Brett snapped out of his daze and he found himself the object of Ms. Tolskaya's glare. He blushed and this time he cleared his brain of any thoughts and forced himself to hear only the ballet music.

Which didn't work out so well, but he also didn't make any mistakes. He was just not his usual stellar self, he guessed. After the cooling down exercises, Ms. Tolskaya clapped her hands to get their attention.

"All right, the role assignments will be posted next Thursday at the bulletin board down the hall. Do not forget to have your waivers signed by your parents. The costume-fitting will also be on Thursday. Rehearsal schedules will be posted the week after. Is that understood? Are there any more questions? No? Then that is all."

Brett started to go to the corner where Santiago and his bag were when Ms. Tolskaya called him. "Pierce, can I have a word?"

Brett made his way to his ballet teacher, a little nervous but mostly curious. He had never been held back in class before. Ms. Tolskaya fixed her steel-gray eyes on him. "Are you sick, boy?"

Brett shook his head vigorously.

She studied him for a minute more. Then she spoke again. "Good. Make sure to take good care of yourself."

And with that, she dismissed him. Brett frowned in confusion as he made his way again to where Santiago was. Most of the class had already left.

"Do you want to leave now?" Brett asked, sitting himself beside his friend. He took out a bottle of water from his duffel and took a huge gulp. He let out a sigh as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. When Santiago didn't answer, Brett looked over at him. Santiago kept his eyes directly in front of him.

"San?" Brett shifted uncomfortably. "Are you mad? I'm sorry I dragged you here, I guess that I—I just thought—"

"No, I'm not mad." Brett frowned. Santiago's voice sounded weird again. It was deep and scratchy and made Brett's insides tingle deliciously.

Wait, what?

"You were amazing." This time, Santiago's voice was soft and almost reverent. The tingly feeling surrendered to the fluttery feeling and it made Brett giddy.

He grinned. "Because you're here."

Santiago rolled his eyes and scoffed. "You're amazing, whether or not I'm around."

"How would you know, if you're not around?" Brett teased.

"I just know so." Santiago turned his face a little to look at Brett. His brown eyes lingered for a brief moment on Brett before he turned his gaze back to the front hastily. They sat in silence for a while until they were the only ones left in the room. Brett let his eyes wander to Santiago's features and his mind returned to the questions he had earlier, about the change that had come over him.

It wasn't just the physical that had changed with Santiago, and Brett supposed, with him as well. Santiago's face had lost the soft roundness of childhood, replaced instead by almost harsh lines—with his set jaw, his firm chin and his pouty lips which were pressed together into a thin line more often, making him look stern. His body, as Brett noted earlier, had changed from its small thinness into compact muscles. (Though Santiago was still kinda short, especially since Brett himself had grown a few inches.) It was more than all these; Santiago seemed to have aged in other ways.

This made Brett a little bit afraid.

So far, he and Santiago had been in step, and Brett wondered, with growing dread and trepidation, if next year, when high school started, things would take a turn that would pull them apart. He could see it now, actually, what with Santiago spending more time with his would-be football buddies while Brett spent his with dance classes. And the Friday afternoons-and-weekends, which they used to spend researching and working on Brett's time machine, were rarely spent together now.

"Hey."

Brett snapped out of his reverie. Santiago was looking at him curiously. But before he could say anything else, Brett rose and grabbed his bag. "I think the dressing room's clear now."

"Shall I wait for you in the hallway?"

Brett crinkled his brows even as a smile played on his lips. "You can come with me, now that no one's around. Besides, I'll be taking a shower so it might take a while."

Santiago's eyes widened and his mouth hung open in surprise. A mild look of panic crossed his face, a look that made Brett frown in earnest. "Our dressing rooms are clean, you know."

Santiago still look conflicted but he also didn't say anything so Brett just brushed this off as a manifestation of Santiago's bashfulness. Brett rolled his eyes and tugged his friend by the wrist. "Come on."

As Brett predicted, the changing room was indeed empty. Santiago set his bag on the bench near the door. He took a cursory glance at his surroundings while Brett tugged his black tights off on the opposite end of the bench, the one near the showers. The cool air felt good against his legs making Brett sigh.

Which was quickly followed by a sharp intake of breath. From Santiago.

Brett turned to look at him curiously. Santiago's eyes were so wide, they seemed ready to bulge out. Brett looked down at his body. Then he turned to Santiago again. "Yeah, boys wear leotards too, though we wear it first then the tights, unlike the girls who wear their tights first then the leotard. And we're advised to get the thong ones. Some of the other boys don't like it but I think it's great; it makes our butt look good." And with that, Brett pulled his arms from the armholes and tugged his white leotard down, leaving him in his dance belt. He grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist.

He took one last glance at Santiago, who was still staring at him. He flashed him a smile and said, "I'll be quick!" then he went the showers.

When Brett returned to the dressing room, freshly showered with the towel wrapped around his waist, he found Santiago sitting on the same spot where he left him, but Brett noted that his shoulders were tensed and he was clenching the strap of his duffel bag.

"You okay there, San?"

Santiago made a movement to turn his head at the sound of his voice but stopped himself almost immediately. Brett frowned.

Santiago was sure acting weird today.

Worried, Brett, walked over to his friend. When Santiago noticed him approaching, he leapt to his feet but in doing so, he nearly tripped over himself. For a second it looked like he was regaining his balance but when he accidentally caught sight of Brett, he staggered forward until Brett caught him.

"Whoa there!"

In this close proximity, Brett could feel the heat emanating from Santiago's face… and from the rest of his body. It lasted only for a brief moment since Santiago leapt back to the wall, visibly flustered. Brett advanced towards him. "Are you feeling all right?"

Santiago tried valiantly to meet his eyes but Brett noted that those brown eyes were flickering down to his abs then to his lips then to his abs again and then back to his lips. When Santiago licked his own lips unconsciously, everything finally clicked inside Brett's head.

Oh. _Oh._

Well that explained a lot of things.

Brett took a step towards Santiago, who seemed torn between leaving and staying, looking and not looking, and maybe, to kiss and not to kiss. His moment of indecision made the choice for him and Santiago stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on Brett's lips and—

"It's okay," whispered Brett, when they were only apart mere inches, and getting closer and closer. He could feel the tingly-fluttery feelings again, more intensely than he had ever felt them before. He rested his forearms against the wall behind Santiago, bracketing him. They were so close now, so close that Brett could feel Santiago doing his best to restrain himself, his whole body tensing, sending ripples through his muscles which Brett could acutely feel against his bare torso. Their breaths were mixing now and Brett wanted so much to close the distance, to feel Santiago's lips against his, to find out for sure if they were as soft as marshmallows as he had first thought. But he stopped himself and waited for Santiago to take the final step.

Santiago's eyes darted to his, and Brett noted that they were muddled with so many conflicting emotions, but definitely there was that intense, hungry look from before. Brett met his eyes evenly and tried to convey everything he felt right now, that he wanted to kiss him, plain and simple. It seemed like Santiago got it since his brown eyes became clear before he lunged towards Brett, crashing his lips against his.

Santiago's mouth was hot against Brett's, hot, wet and urgent. Never before had Brett felt such unbridled desire—and it to be caused by him!—that he found himself submitting meekly to Santiago's fierce, almost bruising kiss. His meekness didn't last long, however; not when the desire pooling at the pit of his stomach was quickly rivalling that of which Santiago was showing, and he began kissing back, kissing just as hard, but more exploratory as he let his tongue dart out and lick the seam of Santiago's lips. He felt Santiago gasp against his mouth and before he could draw back, Brett slid his tongue inside Santiago's mouth, earning him a moan, which in turn made him smile.

(Brett had never kissed or had been kissed like this before. It was exhilarating, and so intoxicating—he wanted to do it again and again. With Santiago. Which he supposed wasn't really surprising since he had been wondering ever since that day in the playground what his lips felt like. He had been thinking along the lines of running his fingers against them, but he supposed this way was better. Way _way_ better.)

When they finally drew back from each other, Brett saw how swollen Santiago's lips were. He was also panting heavily as if he was the one who had just been practicing the dance steps for an hour. Still dazed from the kiss, Brett could feel his own swollen lips stretch into a dopey grin. "That was—"

But his words were cut off when he saw the look in Santiago's eyes: they were wide and filled with such abject terror. Brett felt his stomach clench; he didn't understand it. Santiago wanted this, Brett was sure he wanted this. The way Santiago's body had responded told him as much and Brett knew enough about bodies to know that they never lied.

And yet, he couldn't deny that there, in Santiago's dark eyes, was a hunted-animal look.

Brett could feel his heart racing again, but this time with dread. "San?" When Santiago didn't respond, only looking at him with those terrified eyes, words rushed out of Brett's mouth. "I'm sorry, I—"

Santiago seemed to have gathered his senses as he turned his head sharply to avoid looking at Brett. He stepped away from Brett, grabbed his bag from the bench and muttered, "I—I have to go."

Before Brett knew it he was alone in the dressing room.

**xxx**

**[10 May 2008 | 4:49 PM – Lopez House]**

For the first few weeks after the incident in the dressing room, Santiago avoided Brett. Whenever they saw each other in the hallway, he would immediately avert his eyes and hurry past or take the opposite direction.

It hurt.

It hurt more than Brett knew it could. It was like he was losing him, his best friend, and all because of one kiss. And worse, Santiago wouldn't even let him apologize for it, or explain; he wasn't giving him the opportunity to set things right.

Though to be honest, Brett didn't know what exactly he did wrong. He had been turning the events over and over in his head and he was still pretty sure that Santiago wanted to kiss him then. So why was he avoiding him now? Brett had told him, shown him even, that he was fine with it. More than fine, actually.

Brett was left with all these questions and no answers. He had tried cornering Santiago a couple of times in between classes and sometimes during lunch, but Santiago was always surrounded by his would-be football buddies nowadays, laughing boisterously and wolf-whistling at girls.

After weeks of futile attempts to get Santiago to talk to him, Brett turned his focus to his dance classes instead. To nobody's great surprise, Brett managed to nab the lead role for the ballet. As a result of which, Ms. Tolskaya had been pushing him non-stop, and he ended up being so exhausted from the rehearsals that his brain flatlined in everything else—school, dealing with LT's James-Dean-phase, the Pierces' unique family traditions, his time-machine… Santiago.

Which he was grateful for. The ache in his body was infinitely more bearable than the ache in his heart when he thought of how Santiago had been avoiding him lately.

So the weeks turned into months and before he knew it, the performance was only two weeks away. He had been given four complimentary tickets, three of which he of course gave to his family, and the last he held on to every day for the opportunity to give it to the only other person in this world he wanted to come watch.

But, just like before, Santiago was difficult to find alone. And when Brett did get the opportunity, after trailing after him the whole day, Santiago had looked so terrified that Brett forgot what he was supposed to do and before he could blink twice, Santiago had gotten away.

When the performance was only a week away, Brett decided that desperate times called for desperate measures:

He was going to the Lopez house.

It wasn't like Brett had never been to Santiago's house before. He had, twice or thrice, but the atmosphere there was so tense that it almost felt like everywhere there were tripwires and the inhabitants were walking, speaking, breathing oh-so-carefully. Actually, this was an exaggeration, but the nervousness that Brett had felt before was real. And he was feeling it again now, standing in the front porch of the large house. He took two deep breaths and three quick ones to steady his nerves. He knocked on the door thrice.

It didn't take more than five seconds before it was opened and Mrs. Lopez's kind, beautiful face appeared. When she saw that it was him, she smiled and opened the door wider.

"Bretton, I haven't seen you in a while!" She stepped back. "Come in, come in."

Brett stepped into the hallway, fidgeting all the while. When Mrs. Lopez had closed the door, words rushed out of his mouth. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this but will you please give this to Santiago?" He presented the ticket with both hands, as he bowed his head. He remembered that was how people asked for favors in the olden times. Oh wait, they also knelt on their knees. Should he kneel, too?

As he was shifting his weight from one leg to the other, in preparation to go down on his knees, Mrs. Lopez took the ticket from his hands. She looked at it carefully, before turning back to Brett. "Are you going to be performing?" she asked, smiling.

"Y-Yes! I'll be playing the lead role," Brett mumbled. He gave himself a mental kick in the head for forgetting his manners.

"Sure, I'll give this to Santiago. Haven't you two been seeing each other though?"

"We—uh, we've been both busy," said Brett, his voice shaking slightly.

Mrs. Lopez nodded. "Yes, he's been working out for the football team." She sighed. "Boys. I honestly wish he would choose a sport that wouldn't present a high risk of him ending up in his father's operating table." Brett didn't know what to say to that so he just kept his mouth shut. "Would you like to join us for dinner? We're having steak."

Brett shook his head immediately.

Mrs. Lopez frowned. "It's because we aren't having authentic Spanish cuisine, is it?"

Brett's eyes widened and he shook his head again, this time with more vehemence.

Mrs. Lopez laughed at that, and Brett noted with surprise how similar that was to Santiago's own laugh. "I'm just kidding. Well then, are you going to wait for Santiago? He should be home soon."

"N-No, I'll just be heading home now." Brett thanked the heavens that he found his voice again. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Lopez."

"No problem." Mrs. Lopez opened the door to let Brett out. Brett bowed awkwardly before walking down the front steps.

When he was on the sidewalk, Brett let out a huge sigh of relief. And for the first time in months, he felt his spirits lifting.

**xxx**

**[18 May 2008 | 7:03 PM – Lima Dance Theatre; 8:13 PM – LDT-Outside]**

The theatre was packed. Brett had never felt so nervous and excited at the same time. Backstage was abuzz with dancers and stage managers and props people getting in each other's way, shouting directions and double-checking everything at the last minute. Brett rocked himself on the balls of his feet; he couldn't keep still and he was contemplating the pros and cons of doing cartwheels to expend the nervous energy when through the curtains, he caught sight of his parents and Hailey making their way on the front row.

With the stage manager busy checking the props, Brett edged to the side of the stage until he was sure his family could see him and he waved. He immediately withdrew but not before checking the still-empty seat on Mr. Pierce's right.

Brett could feel his excitement ebbing away a little.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He should focus on the performance. He took a deep breath as the stage manager was shouting for everybody to take their places. He was going to do great, he knew he would, Santiago or no Santiago.

But he took one last peek just in case.

Nope, still empty.

Mr. and Mrs. Pierce seemed to have noticed him looking at the empty seat since they both gave him sympathetic smiles followed by his mom making a heart sign with her index fingers and thumbs and his dad making a discreet yet noticeable fist pump. Brett couldn't help but smile at his parents' antics and he mouthed the words 'I love you' before leaving the side of the stage to take his place.

Brett's body went auto-pilot during the performance, immersing himself so much into the music and letting it guide his every movement. It was amazing how time flies so fast when he let himself get lost into the moment, and he wondered what he had to do, what equation he needed to solve in order to get to the secret of this lost time, how to find it, how to freeze it, how to regain it.

When Brett had snapped out of his dance-induced haze, it was to the sound of thundering applause and the sight of so many people giving the whole cast and crew a standing ovation. He looked over to his castmates and they all looked just as disbelieving and so ridiculously proud and happy like he was. His eyes wandered to where his family was seated. His parents were standing and clapping their hands wildly, while his sister Hailey had climbed to her seat in order to be seen. Laughter bubbled out of his lips and he waved to them. Though he tried not to, his eyes flickered to the seat beside his father.

It was still empty.

Brett could feel his smile fade a little.

Some of the cast and crew were crashing at somebody's house to party, and for good form's sake, they invited Brett along. Brett politely refused, saying that he was having dinner with his family. Which was one hundred percent true, but Brett was also aware that his classmates weren't exactly thrilled with him getting the lead spot. That was how it always was, he supposed.

He changed out of his costume hurriedly, not wanting to keep his family waiting. When he had carefully stuffed his tunic and tights and ballet shoes in his bag, he weaved his way through the still-crowded backstage. He exited through the secret side door which led to the almost empty space just beside the park, which was adjacent to the theatre. He basked in this peaceful solitude, breathing in a lungful of fresh night air.

Santiago's absence still stung but he wouldn't let that get in the way of him enjoying the rest of the night with his family.

(But it still freaking hurt though.

Seriously.)

He stretched his arms one last time before walking towards the front of the theatre where his family was waiting.

A movement from the shadows of the building caught Brett's eye and he felt his body tense.

"It's just me."

Brett's eyes widened in surprise and he could feel his jaw dropping. It sounded like—but it couldn't be!—he wasn't—

But it really was him, emerging from the shadows, head slightly bowed but brown eyes meeting Brett's. He was wearing his black jacket, making him blend easily with the dark.

"San…" Brett breathed, still not completely believing he was there.

Santiago gave a small smile. "You were amazing, as always."

"You were there? But I didn't—your seat—"

"I don't have to see it to know that you'd be amazing. You always are." Despite these words, Brett still felt his heart plummet. It wasn't the same, he wanted to say. "But yes," Santiago continued. "I was there." He shifted his weight to his other foot. "I was by the exit on the right."

Brett tilted his head to the left. "But why didn't you take your seat?"

Santiago shook his head, mumbling, "I was… I guess I was just embarrassed." He cleared his throat, before locking his eyes on Brett's. In the pale moonlight, Santiago's features seemed softer, his eyes glowing with a gentle light. Brett immediately thought that he looked very handsome. He took a step towards him. Santiago's instinctive response was to take a step back, but he caught himself just in time and stood his ground, waiting as Brett closed the distance between them.

"Why were you embarrassed?" Brett asked softly.

Santiago's gaze faltered and he ducked his head. "I've been an asshole to you for a while. I'm… I'm sorry."

Brett felt the beating of butterfly wings in his chest soothe the hurt of the past few months. He smiled. "I forgive you, San." He nudged his forehead against Santiago's to make him look up. "But I have to know why you've been avoiding me."

All at once, Brett saw the terror reappear in Santiago's eyes. Santiago's breath hitched and he took a step back, regaining the distance between them.

"San?"

"C-Can we just forget about it?" Santiago's voice had a harsh edge to it. But at the same time, there was something so brittle about it.

"Forget about what?"

"Everything!"

Brett felt something squeezing in his chest. He didn't like this. He didn't like seeing Santiago like this, so angry and afraid. It made Brett afraid.

Afraid for him.

Brett reached out to touch Santiago, to calm him, like how he had seen people tame wild animals like tigers in those documentaries. But Santiago wouldn't let himself be touched. His frightened brown eyes locked on Brett's again, and Brett could see he was pleading.

Brett dropped his arm. "Is this about the kiss?" He saw Santiago stiffen. Brett swallowed before continuing. "I—I don't want to forget it, San. I liked it… I like you, and I guess I've been wanting to kiss you ever since that day in the playground. And I—"

"Brett…" Santiago's voice sounded like it was breaking.

"I know that… that there aren't a lot of boys kissing in this town but I also know that it isn't wrong and I really don't mind it if we do it again…" Brett inhaled sharply, as he tried to squeeze out all the words he had been keeping inside ever since that day in the dressing room. "I'd really like to do it again."

This time it was Brett who ducked his head, unable to meet Santiago's eyes.

After a few moments, he heard the crunching of gravel then he saw Santiago's shoes. When he lifted his head, Santiago was only a few inches away, and he was coming closer still. Before Brett could realize what was happening, Santiago pressed his lips against his, softly, before stepping back just as quick.

Brett wondered for a moment if it was real or if his mind was playing tricks on him. But the tingling sensation on his lips, and the way Santiago was standing just a few steps away from him with his brown eyes wide and his own hand on his lips reassured Brett that it was real.

They stood there in silence for a full minute, just staring at each other, afraid to break the moment with words.

"Brett?"

Both of them jumped at the sound of the voice. They turned to see Mr. Pierce walking towards them, with Mrs. Pierce and Hailey following closely behind. "There you are! We've been waiting for you at the front but you didn't show, and when we asked the people inside, they said that you—oh, hello there, Santiago! You're here!" Mr. Pierce strode over to Santiago, clapping him on the back. "Did you watch Brett perform? He was amazing!"

Santiago gave a strained smile. "Yes, Mr. Pierce. He was."

"What's that?" asked Hailey, pointing at something that Santiago was holding with his left hand.

Santiago lifted the package, revealing it to be a paper bag. He offered it to Mrs. Pierce. "It's, uh, it's some brownies Mami made."

Mrs. Pierce's mouth quirked into an amused smile. "Are you sure that's for me?" At Santiago's confused expression, she continued. "'Cause it seemed like they were meant for somebody who had danced beautifully tonight." She glanced at Brett with the subtlety of a freight train.

Santiago stared at Mrs. Pierce before ducking his head. He glanced at Brett almost shyly and walked towards him. He very nearly shoved the paper bag at him. "Here," he mumbled.

Brett tried to suppress a grin but he couldn't help it, what with Santiago acting so flustered it was adorable. "Thanks." Then because he couldn't resist it, he added, "Did you help bake them too?"

Santiago scowled as his hand shot to the back of his neck. Brett bit back a laugh.

"Well, since you're already here, why don't you join us for dinner?" Mr. Pierce asked Santiago, when they had reached the parking lot.

"I'd love to, Mr. Pierce but—"

"I'll let you sit next to me!" Hailey looked expectantly at Santiago, her bright blue eyes wide.

Santiago cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"It's not every night you get to sit beside a pretty girl," she continued, still looking at him.

After a beat, Santiago knelt in front of the little girl, took her hand and said with utmost sincerity, "It would be a great honor."

Hailey giggled and swayed from side to side. Brett rolled his eyes even as he was trying not to laugh.

"Looks like we've found our future son-in-law!" said Mr. Pierce, his eyes twinkling.

Both Brett and Santiago tensed up at the words, and, with such unerring synchronicity it almost seemed practiced, they met each other's eyes.

**xxx**

**[Interlude]**

Though the core of this dream remained unchanged through the years, he found the dreamlike worlds he had visited before fading, or being fused with the things he was learning to integrate in his mind in order to belong—things like pop music, television shows, movies, and a bit of politics and ideology (he found presidency to be a viable back-up plan to time-travelling). Time-travelling was still his goal but modifications were made as to the places he would like to go to.

He had been keeping a notebook where he kept the exact dates, times and locations he would like to go visit in the past (to find out, for example, how and why the Gummy Bears migrated from the Land of the Sugar-Plum Fairy to the Broccoli Forest) and approximations of years into the future (to witness the final collapse of monopoly capitalism and to join as a member of the prep team in the Hunger Games).

But lately, the dates, times and locations he had been jotting down were of the more recent past, and within the immediate vicinity.

On certain days, he even thought that what he wanted wasn't really a means to go back and forth through time anymore, but rather something like a remote control that could enable him to pause, play, rewind, slow down, fast forward events.

Especially those that involved Santiago Lopez.

**xxx**

**[7 September 2008 | 12:03 PM – McKinley High]**

The moment Brett Pierce set foot on the hallways of McKinley High, he was immediately struck by its difference from middle school. Somehow, high school gave off the vibes of a jungle, where it was eat-or-be-eaten, especially when the seniors and upperclassmen were eyeing each freshman with a predatory glint in their eyes. He now sort of understood what Mike had been saying about how different high school was, how it was harsher and more cruel than anything they had ever known so far in life.

Nevertheless, Brett didn't let the looks and smirks get to him. As long as he had Santiago by his side, he was all good.

Things have been okay between him and Santiago. Not exactly the best that he could hope for, but definitely not the worst. Santiago seemed to be really serious about joining the football team so he had been spending quite a lot of time practicing with Noah, Finn, Matt and Mike (who also spent half of his time with Brett—he was like a double-agent or something, maybe it's an Asian thing). And Brett still continued with his dance classes, he was now taking up modern and hip-hop. So it was back to the way things were late last year. With the only difference being Santiago's efforts to free up at least one afternoon each week to hang out with Brett.

This teeny-tiny difference was worth a thousand boxes of Lucky Charms and Dots and Skittles to Brett.

And would have been worth a hundred thousand more if they were doing 'stuff' in those afternoons, but Brett supposed you could never have it all. Sure, they've kissed again once or twice, but Santiago seemed really hesitant in turning those chaste pecks into full-on make-out sessions, and Brett didn't want to push him. Well, to be honest, he really really did. Brett wasn't exactly an expert in biology or whatever but Santiago has been looking really fine lately. He didn't know if it was because of the work-outs Santiago has been doing or the natural changes their bodies were undergoing during this oh-so-delightful period of puberty or just Brett's freaking hormones going wild—whatever it was, Brett was having a hard time to keeping it in his pants. He even had taken to wearing his dance belt whenever he and Santiago hung out. No need to freak his bashful best friend out with such flagrant display of… eagerness, after all.

So yes, things between him and Santiago were okay—not the best, not the worst, but just okay. Brett could work with that.

Brett glanced at Santiago, who, despite his attempts to look aloof, was actually pretty nervous, judging by the tensing of his shoulders. Brett reached out to touch Santiago's hand, his fingertips brushing against Santiago's wrist. Santiago turned his head slightly to look at him, a small smile finding its way to his lips, as he opened his palm for Brett to take.

"Hey, Lopez!"

Santiago immediately drew back his hand, and even took a few steps away from Brett. He turned towards the caller. A medium-built guy with his head shaved save for a strip of hair running through the middle of his head (which honestly looked like something that was scraped off the highway) was swaggering towards them.

"Noah?"

Brett did a double-take. Noah? Noah Puckerman? What the hell happened to his hair?

"It's Puck now," said Noah—er, Puck, grinning. He ran his hand through that landing strip on his head. "I've heard chicks dig mohawks."

"No, they dig worms."

Brett didn't know why he said that, but well. Puck, who apparently didn't notice Brett standing there before, looked him over before his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Well well well, if it isn't Twinkle-Toes. Going to join the Fairy Club?"

Before Brett could react, Santiago had stepped between him and Puck. "Watch your mouth, Puckerman. Brett's my friend."

Brett watched in tense silence as Santiago and Puck entered into a staring match. After a few moments, Puck finally backed off, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Sure. Just don't forget to sign up for the team." He took one last look at Brett before adding, "And if I were you, Lopez, I'd be choosing who I hang out with more carefully." Then he walked away, immediately swallowed up by the crowd of students in the hallway.

"Thanks, San."

Santiago turned to look at Brett, his brown eyes flashing. Brett was taken aback and he wondered what he had said to make his friend mad. Apparently sensing his confusion, Santiago relaxed his features. "Sorry about Noah—er, Puck. He wasn't this much of an ass when we were hanging out together last year." He sighed. "I guess some guys just transform the minute they enter high school."

Brett felt a slight chill creep up on his heart at those words.

"What do you say we sign up before we take our lunch?" Without waiting for Brett's reply, Santiago weaved his way through the throng of people, with Brett following closely behind him.

They had to fight their way to get to the bulletin board where the sign-up sheets were posted. Most of the students, the freshies, were just ogling at the sheets, probably trying to decide which clubs to join. But Santiago didn't take more than a minute before he was signing his name on the football team sign-up sheet. He looked at Brett expectantly.

"What?" Brett asked.

"Well, aren't you going to sign up?"

Brett furrowed his brows. "Hmm, oh yeah. Just gimme a minute." He looked at the sheets again, thought for a bit, took out the purple crayon he always carried around him, then went closer to the board to scribble his name.

When he was done, he turned towards Santiago who was looking back at him with a confused frown on his face (which Brett had always thought was cute). Santiago opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He looked at the bulletin board again as if to double-check, then looked at Brett. Finally, he seemed to have found his voice again.

"Brett, you signed up for the Cheerios."

Brett looked at him curiously. "I know."

"The Cheerios, Brett."

"Yeah. I wonder if they give away free Cheerio to those who make it to the team." Brett pondered about this as he rubbed his chin. Santiago grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a corner.

"What the hell, Brett? You can't be serious in wanting to join the cheerleading squad!"

"Why not? From what I heard, they've been National champions for five years now. And they get all these perks like accommodations at five-star hotels and freebies from—"

"But that's beside the point!"

"Oh, um, the comma? I haven't studied the seat plan of punctuation marks yet but—"

"No, Brett! You joining the Cheerios is like a… death wish or something!"

Brett frowned in confusion. "I don't think Darth Vader was a cheerleader. It was the Force, San."

Santiago took a deep breath. "Listen to me, Brett. You already get teased enough as it is, and if you join the Cheerios, it's going to get much worse. The Cheerios might be National champions or whatever but that's for girls. It's the football team for guys."

"That's not true. There are male Cheerios as well; I saw two of them in the hallway. And I don't understand what's the deal with the football team. From what I've heard they haven't won anything in quite a while."

Santiago let out a sigh of frustration. "Whether or not the team won anything doesn't matter! It's the stigma! If you want to be on top of the social hierarchy in this school, you have to follow the rules, and the rules say that guys join the football team and not the Cheerios!"

"But I don't really care about social hiking. I just want to do what I want." Brett took in Santiago's frowning face. "Look, I don't really get about these rules, but I know what I want, and I want to join the Cheerios."

Then after a moment's hesitation, he added softly. "You've never stopped me from doing what I wanted before, San."

That seemed to have gotten through to Santiago. His expression softened. He sighed and shook his head. "You're right. I'm sorry; I shouldn't be pushing you like this. I'm just…" He ran his fingers through his hair. "It's just that… I'm worried."

"Don't be." Brett smiled. "Everything's going to be all right."

Santiago tried to smile back but only managed to give a weak smile. And before Brett could say anything else, Santiago had turned around and headed towards the cafeteria.

Brett stood there for a minute, unsure if Santiago wanted Brett to follow him or not.

**xxx**

**[14 November 2008 | 12:15 PM – McKinley High; 8:33 PM – Gray House; 11:01 PM – Pierce House]**

Brett made it into the cheerleading squad with no problem at all. (He even thought that their Coach, Sue Sylvester, was rather impressed with his routine, calling him Blonde Taffy and saying that he can drag his sorry toned ass to the field for practice.) And Santiago also seemed to have done well, since he was now part of the football team, one of the few freshmen who weren't delegated to warming the benches during games.

These should have made Brett happy, both of them getting into the teams that they wanted. But what he didn't count on was for them to be spending more and more time apart from each other. At first, Brett thought it was simply because their respective teams had brutal practice sessions that threatened to break every bone and rip every muscle in their bodies. It was excusable not to hang out afterwards when every movement one made caused such excruciating pain. Or to not meet each other's eyes and just going by with mumbles and grunts for conversation by the lockers because one had to conserve as much energy as possible.

But when after a few weeks and Brett's body had gotten used to the vicious practice sessions, and he and Santiago still didn't get to hang out, he began to wonder about this.

Santiago, like before, or rather now more than ever, spent his time with his football buddies—strutting down the hallway in their varsity jackets (which Brett had got to admit looked hot on Santiago), having lunch together (a third of which they actually spent in scarfing down the cafeteria food, a third in cracking jokes and a third in either vandalizing the walls outside or slushying a poor mortal soul), and hanging out in each other's houses after practice (which some of his teammates said were just spent on watching porn and jerking off).

Well Brett had been kind of busy too, and though within the Cheerios there was a social divide between the males and females, they all still pretty much stuck to one another's company. Girl Cheerios usually travel in packs, hung out together during lunch (eating nothing but chugging down Coach Sylvester's Master Cleanse formula) and also after practice (doing each other's nails and gossip). Guy Cheerios, well, they were kinda in a limbo; they definitely weren't losers like the lost souls that didn't affiliate with any clubs (or worse, joined the wince-worthy ones like the Glee club), but they also weren't exactly at the top of the heap like their female teammates. Like in the hierarchy of popular kids, the male Cheerios were near the bottom, just above those swim team guppies. Nevertheless, Brett didn't mind it very much, even as some of the jocks made some snide remarks as they passed their table during lunch. For safety though, his male teammates advised him to travel in packs as well.

All in all, it was actually pretty understandable why he and Santiago rarely hung out together anymore.

(This actually made Brett a little sad since he had been thinking that high school would make things between them better than okay.)

"Hey Brett, you coming to Gray's party later?"

Brett looked up from his lunch to meet the eyes of—er, darn, he could never memorize the names of his teammates. He blinked. "To what?"

"Party! Melinda Gray? Like our Cheer captain? Dude, come on!"

"Oh, um, I don't know." Brett turned back to his food. Now that he thought about it, cafeteria food really looked weird. What even was that gray mush anyway?

"Geez, Pierce. You're seriously heading down the loser spiral if you keep this up. I mean you've got great moves but you know the rest of the school don't care about that. You've got to up your game!"

Brett cautiously poked the gray mush on his tray, humming the chorus to BSB's 'Quit Playing Games with My Heart.'

His teammate threw up his arms in the air. He glanced at their other teammates for support but most of them were just snickering.

"Well it would be for Pierce's own good if he doesn't show up later," one of their other teammates spoke up. "Those meathead jocks are sure to be there. Blondie here would just be shredded to pieces."

Brett perked up. "Jocks… like the football team?"

"Well duh. I wouldn't be calling those stick-toters and guppies jocks, would I?"

Brett pushed his lunch tray away and smiled. "Oh okay then, I'm going. What time is it?"

All of his teammates stared blankly back at him.

Melinda Gray's party was… pretty wild. The whole place was teeming with people and Brett wondered how they all still managed to breathe. The air was warm, even with the air-conditioning in full blast, and the scent of alcohol and sweat and cheap perfume made him a little nauseous. He looked around for his teammates but they had all vanished within five seconds of entering the house. He tried cutting through the throng of people, but it was pretty difficult considering most of them seemed to be plastered already and so ready to keel over at the first opportunity.

He eventually made it to the kitchen, which was also teeming with couples just about to get it on, but which thankfully also housed the drinks. He was only familiar with wine (because of the Random Pierce Family Candlelit Dinners) and beer (for those two times when Santiago brought some over, saying that they had better get used to drinking this kind stuff since that was all high school kids apparently drank). So he avoided punch and the cocktails, though they were really enticing with their pretty colors, and grabbed himself a can of beer.

"Well, if it isn't Baby Blue Eyes!"

Before Brett could even lift the can to his lips, he was forced around until he was facing a very pretty girl with dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes. Her face was flushed and the smile on her red lips looked too bright. Brett seemed to vaguely recall seeing her in the squad. He really should be paying more attention to people around him.

"I wasn't too sure you'd be coming, the girls said you're a little weird like that but," she stepped closer to him. "I'm really glad to see you did." Her eyes locked onto his and Brett could see plainly that they were already glazed. She chuckled, her breath tickling his chin. "You look too sober for my party."

Oh. So this must be Melinda Gray. Their Cheer captain. Okay, noted.

What happened next was something Brett had trouble remembering. He vaguely remembered finishing his beer then downing a couple of red solo cups filled with the punch and cocktails he had been avoiding earlier. Then him being led to the space in the living room which served as the dance floor. He remembered dancing to something by Ke$ha and with someone grinding against him. But his stomach soon began to churn and he hurried off to find the bathroom to hurl. After that, he passed by the kitchen again where he finally saw Santiago. He was about to approach him when he noticed that Santiago was scowling and gesturing wildly. Brett squinted to make out who he was talking to and saw it was Puck, who was smirking and seemingly taunting his friend.

"Saaan!" Brett slurred, walking towards them. When he managed to get to them without stumbling, he gave himself a mental high-five. He grinned. "I've been looking for you!"

Santiago stared at him before grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him to a corner. He took one last glance at Puck, who Brett noted was looking at them with a curious expression on his face. Brett frowned. Then after a few seconds of trying to rearrange his facial muscles, he shot his nastiest glare at Puck, who looked away and turned his attention towards some random girl.

"You're drunk!" Santiago hissed, worry filling his eyes. "You didn't stick to beer, did you? Why did you drink so much?"

"I… I don't know… some girl, I think her name's Minnie, er, Melly… said that I was too sober so I drank. So that I won't be sober. And now I'm drunk." Brett took a while to fix his expression to a confused one but it was so damn difficult that he just relaxed his features. He sighed. "I don't like Puck."

Santiago frowned. "Why?"

"I don't like the way he was talking to you earlier."

Santiago's expression softened a bit. "It's all right, Brett. He's my friend."

Brett shook his head but that seemed to be a bad idea since his vision turned hazy. "If he's your friend, he wouldn't be making you angry like that."

"He's just an ass sometimes."

"What were you two talking about?"

"Nothing. Come." Santiago tugged him back towards the kitchen which was now Puck-free. Brett watched as Santiago filled a glass with tap water, which he handed to Brett. "Drink up. It will help sober you up."

"But Melinda said—"

Santiago rolled his eyes. "Never mind what Melinda said."

Brett downed the water and handed the glass back to Santiago who started filling it again with water. A pair of tanned arms shot out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around Santiago's waist. Santiago jumped, dropping the glass on the sink, but fortunately not breaking it.

"Will you dance with me now, Santi?" the girl, to whom the arms were attached, purred. Santiago stiffened in her arms but didn't push her off. Brett looked on, a warm prickly feeling spreading through his chest.

"Look, I—"

"I'll even let you touch my boobs." She leaned closer to Santiago's ear. "And maybe even somewhere else."

Santiago looked conflicted and he glanced at Brett for help. But Brett didn't know what his friend wanted him to do. Did he want him to remove the girl from him and toss her off to the side? Brett tried to think of other things but this was the only thing that made sense so he made his way towards them.

Only to be cut off by a second voice. "There you are, Baby Blue!"

Brett turned to the voice so quickly his head spun. He leaned over the counter to keep himself from falling. He heard a laugh. "Well you definitely don't seem too sober for my party." Then he felt somebody tugging his arm. "Come, dance with me."

Brett opened his mouth to protest but his eyes caught sight of Santiago wrapping his arms around the girl's waist and pulling her close. He lifted his head for a moment and brown eyes met Brett's, but they were quickly lowered. And the last thing Brett saw before leaving the kitchen was Santiago burying his face against the girl's neck.

Nothing was making sense anymore and as he was led to the dance floor again, he felt the desire to just lose himself. The speakers were now blaring out some song by Timbaland and with everything that had just happened, Brett let the music take over. The pretty girl—Mimi—Melinda danced closely against him, first just letting herself bump and grind against him, but soon enough her hands had travelled to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to him. Then she was kissing him, kissing him wetly, her tongue running along Brett's top lip. Brett didn't know if it was the alcohol or the dancing or the way Melinda was touching him or the months of sexual frustration but he could feel himself getting hard.

Melinda gave a throaty chuckle as she slid her thigh between his legs, her hips pressing against his crotch. "Come."

Melinda led him through the throng of people and up the stairs, and Brett, his mind hazy with alcohol and confusion and his lower body throbbing, followed meekly. She opened a door somewhere down the hall and pulled him inside. The room was dark but moonlight streamed through the parting of the curtains of the window. Brett would have looked around but it hurt his head to turn it more than ten degrees. Not that he would have been given the opportunity, with how Melinda was pressing him against the door, kissing him again.

"You have a condom with you, right?" she panted against him as she worked through the button of his jeans.

"N-No," Brett stuttered. This was definitely not how he had imagined the night to go. He heard Melinda hiss but he wasn't too sure as he felt his jeans and his boxers pulled down his legs. Since he didn't have a condom, Brett wondered if he could take his leave now. But he felt a hand grab the base of his cock then slowly stroking it. Brett breathed in sharply.

"Never mind. I'm not passing this one up." And then Brett felt something warm and wet swallow down his length. His eyes fluttered close as he let out soft moans. He didn't know that a mouth can make him feel something like this. It didn't take too long before Brett felt himself coming. He gave a grunt as he felt himself exploding inside Melinda's mouth. Melinda bobbed her head a few times more before drawing back. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked at him with a smirk. "Good thing you're cute."

Brett didn't know the protocol on sex. Was he supposed to say thank you? He was pretty sure he should be returning the favor but he didn't think he could get hard again so soon. Not to mention that he really didn't have a condom. So he just looked at Melinda and waited.

Still with that smirk on her face, she pulled down her underwear—red lace, Brett noted—before walking over to her bed and laying down on it. "Come on and show me what you can do." Brett started to lift his pants and boxers up when she said, "Get out of those."

So Brett went over to her, his lower half bare. She pulled him down to kiss him again and Brett could taste himself on her. It was weird, and yet kind of erotic. Brett thought that this definitely wasn't how he had expected his first time to be. She took his right and sucked on his fingers one by one. Then she guided his hand down between her legs. "Stroke me, there, yes, down _there_." (For a moment Brett wondered if this was what having a stroke really was—it sounded like it felt so good.) Melinda was warm and wet down there, surprising Brett since he didn't know that such a warm and soft place existed in the human body. When she guided his fingers inside her, Brett could feel tingles all over his body.

Melinda came with a loud moan and as she lay panting and Brett had pulled his fingers out, she looked at him with a smile. "I think you'd make a pretty good lesbian."

Brett didn't know if that was a compliment but hey, one could never go wrong with both _pretty_ and _good_ in the same sentence. He smiled back and said, "Thanks."

Melinda laughed. Then she got up and looked for her panties. After slipping them back on, she walked towards the door. She picked up Brett's jeans and boxers and threw it to the foot of the bed. Brett dressed himself hastily. But Melinda didn't wait for him. As she opened the door, she said, "Next time, bring a condom."

When Brett got out of the room and into the hallway, he saw Santiago and the other girl emerge from one of the rooms on the other end. Both of their faces were flushed and their lips swollen and the girl was trying to straighten out her dress. Santiago must have felt him looking since he turned his head in his direction. In that brief moment before Santiago looked away, Brett saw the bleakness in his eyes. It was strange. That would have been the last expression that Brett would expect seeing from someone who obviously just got their mack on.

The girl laced her fingers with Santiago's as they made their way downstairs. Brett let his eyes follow them until they disappeared into the sea of people. He didn't know why but he felt his mouth go dry and a lump form in his throat. He took a minute to take three deep breaths and two shallow ones before heading downstairs too.

He made his way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He could feel the buzz of the alcohol fading away but it never hurt to drink more water. He was on his third glass when he felt somebody bump his shoulder, making him spill the water down his front. He turned around, frowning.

"Hey."

His eyes widened when he saw it was Santiago. He immediately put his glass down. "Hey."

"How did you get here?"

"I hitched a ride with—Tony, er, Timmy… uh, Teddy?"

A faint smile flickered across Santiago's features. "Do you want a ride home?"

"You have a car?"

"My dad just gave it to me. For making it into the team." Santiago bit his lip. "So, do you want a ride?"

"Sure, just let me finish this," said Brett, lifting his half-full glass of water. As he was drinking, he could feel Santiago's eyes on him, watching him intently. It made Brett feel a little self-conscious, and he fleetly wondered if there was a way to make drinking water look sexy.

When he was done, he gave a contented sigh. Then he grinned widely at Santiago, who immediately ducked his head.

"Come on," he said gruffly, cutting a path through the crowd, with Brett following closely behind.

The ride home was eerily quiet. Santiago didn't even turn the radio on. He also seemed unaware of this though, with his brows furrowed and his eyes straight on the road. He'd make an excellent driver, thought Brett to himself. He was about to say this out loud but changed his mind at the last minute. It might distract Santiago.

(Although honestly, with the night so late and the road so empty, Santiago didn't have to drive like every few feet there would be a possibility that a dog or a cat or a chicken would suddenly cross the street.)

When they were in front of the Pierce House, Santiago parked by the curb. Brett didn't want to leave yet, and since Santiago hadn't said anything, he took it as a sign that he could stay in the car for a little while longer.

And since it had been bothering Brett from the moment Santiago had offered him a ride, Brett asked, "Was it all right for you to leave your date at the party?"

Santiago turned towards him and blinked. "My date?"

"The girl. Who offered to let you touch her boobs. And somewhere else." Brett could feel his face heating up. Why the heck did he even bring this up?

Santiago stared at him for a full minute before he shook his head. "She wasn't my date."

Brett frowned in confusion. "But she was kinda acting like she was."

"Well Melinda Gray was kinda acting like she was _your_ date."

Brett flinched at the bite in Santiago's words. He hadn't heard this tone before. And he wasn't sure that he liked it. "She's not," he said flatly, meeting Santiago's hardening eyes full-on.

"But you two had sex, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah we did." Brett didn't mean for it to come out like that. Like he was proud of it. He wasn't. Not really. And because he didn't know what else to say, he added, "And I don't see what's wrong with it, when you were getting it on with your not-date."

Something flashed behind Santiago's eyes and his mouth twisted into a snarl. He seemed to be on the verge of blurting something out but he checked himself with supreme effort. Brett could see him clench his jaws as he breathed heavily through his nose, the way he usually did when he was trying to rein in his temper. Brett remembered that Santiago had never raised his voice at him before, and the sight of him trying his best to not do so now when he was so obviously pissed (at what, Brett still had no idea) made his heart clench.

Brett let out a sigh. "If you like Melinda, you could just say so. I'll stay away from her."

A hollow laugh echoed within the car. Santiago was shaking his head. "That's not it, Brett. That's not it at all." He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel.

Brett could feel his heartbeat speed up at those words. He licked his lips before speaking. His voice came out as a whisper. "Then what is it?"

Brett watched Santiago's shoulders rise and fall with every breath he took. He counted ten cycles before Santiago slowly turned his head to look at him. His brown eyes were questioning and there was a hint of fear in them. "You really don't know?"

Brett held his gaze before asking softly, "Is it me?"

Santiago's eyelids fluttered shut as his brows slowly knitted into a frown. Brett unfastened his seatbelt so that he could lean over and press his lips on the wrinkle between Santiago's brows. Brett could feel the wrinkle disappear under his lips. He drew back a little to kiss each of Santiago's eyelids, then the bridge of his nose, the corners of his mouth, before pressing fully against his lips. He felt Santiago open his mouth and let out a small sigh which Brett swallowed.

They kissed slowly, gently, like they had all the time in the world.

When they finally broke apart, Santiago opened his eyes and Brett thought that he had never seen them so soft and dark, like the rolling darkness of the waves at night. Santiago looked so young, so much like the boy that Brett had first seen at Lima Heights Adjacent, and yet at the same time not. At this moment, Santiago looked like the boy he could have been, had he not have all these worries that he had been carrying with him all this time.

"I didn't have sex with her," Santiago whispered, his eyes still soft and open.

Brett frowned. "Why?"

"I couldn't. I…" Santiago took a deep shuddering breath as his eyes closed. He opened them again as he breathed out, "All I could think of was you."

"San…"

Brett didn't know what else to say, not that he thought there were words gentle enough, perfect enough for a moment like this. He leaned over to kiss Santiago again.

"Do you want to come in?" Brett asked when they pulled back, tracing the side of Santiago's face with the back of his fingers.

Santiago leaned in to the touch. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes."

They silently made their way into the house, removing their shoes so as not to make any sounds. But Santiago step on the creaking step in the staircase, and they both froze, waiting for either Mr. or Mrs. Pierce to appear. But after a minute, it became obvious that they were safe and they made it to Brett's bedroom without further incident.

When Brett made a motion to turn on the lights, Santiago stopped him with a whispered "Don't." Brett looked at him curiously but Santiago didn't explain. He just went over to Brett's bed and sat himself down on it.

Brett walked towards him and knelt at his feet. "I'll just go pee. I drank too much water."

Santiago chuckled and took Brett's face with his hands to pull him close. He gave him a soft peck on the lips. "Hurry."

When Brett was at the bathroom, he did more than just pee. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth. He even gargled some mouthwash. He wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen, but as Mike had said, it never hurts to be on the safe side.

When he returned to his bedroom, Santiago was laying down on the bed, though his feet were still planted on the ground. Shafts of moonlight pierced through the curtained window, highlighting the side of Santiago's face, his nose, his lips. Brett thought he looked beautiful and he couldn't keep himself from walking towards him, climbing over him with his knees on either side of Santiago's hips, and his hands bracketing Santiago's face.

Santiago just watched him silently. Like he was waiting.

Brett smiled and lowered himself to run his lips along the path where he saw the moonlight kiss him. Santiago's eyelids fluttered close as he let out a soft sigh. When Brett started kissing his neck, Santiago's hands flew to the hem of Brett's shirt, tugging it up. Brett drew back just long enough to pull it over his head and to tug Santiago's own shirt off too.

Santiago smiled up at him. "Did you just brush your teeth?"

Brett felt his face heat up. "Maybe."

Santiago raised his hand to Brett's face, his thumb grazing Brett's lower lip. He lifted himself up, resting on his left elbow to press his lips against Brett's, sucking on his lower lip. Brett could feel himself getting hard so he placed his hands on Santiago's chest and gently pushed him back. Their lips separated with a wet pop, followed closely by Santiago whining.

Brett laughed softly before letting his hands roam over the expanse of skin before him. He let his fingers ran along the swell of muscles on Santiago's chest, his shoulders, then his biceps and forearms. Brett could feel the power within them and it made his insides tingle. He retraced the path back to Santiago's chest, running his thumbs over his nipples before leaning over to kiss Santiago's abs. Even though Brett himself has a rather nice set of abs, Santiago's was just perfection. Each muscle of his six-pack was clearly defined. They look like slabs of milk chocolate. At this thought, Brett let his tongue run over Santiago's abs. They didn't taste like chocolate, but somehow Brett thought that they still tasted wonderfully.

Because he was tasting Santiago.

Santiago let out a muffled moan and Brett looked up to see him biting the back of his hand, his eyes squeezed shut.

Brett placed what he intended to be a placating kiss just below Santiago's belly button, but that only made Santiago squirm and let out another muffled moan.

"Sorry," Brett whispered against his skin. He then unbuckled Santiago's, unbuttoned his jeans, pulled it down and off his legs until Santiago was only in his boxers. Brett could see plainly see the bulge in Santiago's crotch and that sight made Brett's own cock throb almost painfully inside the confines of his pants. He took a steadying breath. This was Santiago's moment.

He carefully pulled Santiago's boxers down, freeing his erection. Brett let himself marvel at the sight before him. He supposed that he shouldn't be feeling all kinds of awe and giddy considering he was packing the same thing down there, but this wasn't just Santiago's cock in front of him.

This was his unabashed display of desire.

This was Santiago at his most exposed and vulnerable.

"Brett…" Santiago's breathing heavy and ragged. He lifted himself on his elbows to look at Brett. Brett snapped out of his haze and saw the mixture of desire, frustration and fear in Santiago's eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered again. He then placed his hands on the insides of Santiago's thighs, massaging them slowly, before inching up. He let his left hand rest a few inches below Santiago's balls while his right hand made its way around the base of Santiago's cock. The memory of Melinda's ministrations earlier guided him on this but more than that, he was letting his body tell him what to do. Santiago's cock was already glistening with his precome and Brett let his hand slide up and down to spread it along his length. Santiago started muttering something in Spanish as his hips started bucking up.

Brett moved his left hand to rest on Santiago's hip to steady him. He then dipped his head to lick Santiago's cock from the base to the tip before he let his lips slide along the tip. He could feel Santiago jerking his hips and Brett knew that he should postpone his… linguistic explorations to another time. Now, he just had to help Santiago with his release. He took a deep breath before taking Santiago's whole length into his mouth. He swallowed a couple of times when Santiago was fully inside him since he discovered earlier that the sensation against his tip when this was done was pretty fucking awesome. He sucked and swallowed, alternately pulling back until there was only a few centimeters of Santiago in his mouth before taking in his whole length again.

By the tensing of the muscles in Santiago's abdomen, Brett knew that it wouldn't be long now. He redoubled his efforts, until he felt Santiago shuddering, spurting hot come inside his mouth. Brett swallowed the tangy liquid, relishing it even, since this was Santiago's essence he was tasting. He licked and sucked a few times more until he felt Santiago relax. He then pulled away, licking his lips.

Santiago was panting heavily, his eyes hooded. Brett laid himself beside him, running his hand up and down Santiago's chest. When he felt his heartbeat, he paused his hand over where he felt it strongest. Santiago's heart was beating so strong, so fast and so loud, almost like it was trying to announce to the whole world that he was alive. Brett smiled. He actually felt that himself, that he had never been more alive than this very moment.

Santiago turned his head to look at Brett. His brown eyes were still dreamy.

"Thank you," he said. But Brett was pretty sure he meant something else instead.

Brett pressed a kiss on the corner of Santiago's mouth. "You're welcome." He wouldn't say it until Santiago was ready.

They just lay there on the bed for a long time, keeping time with heartbeats. Brett suddenly remembered the rocks they had stashed under the bed. And he wondered, as his eyes fluttered close, if they were enough to slow the time to make this moment last even for just a little bit longer.

**xxx**

**[27 November 2008 | 8:52 AM – McKinley High Parking Lot; 5:12 PM – Football Team Locker Room; 6:05 PM – Pierce House-Curb]**

Thinking about it, Brett supposed that he should have seen this coming. After all, there was a pattern—one step forward, two steps back.

For nearly two weeks, things have been great between him and Santiago. They've been hanging out more often during school, Santiago has been coming over to the Pierces' every other day after their cheer and football practices (to the immense delight and displeasure of Hailey and LT respectively), and they've even hooked up thrice.

Things were so good, something bad was just bound to happen.

And today, it did.

There was this freshman who had a knack for wearing rather flashy outfits—designer coats, skin-tight jeans, diamond-studded ribbons, the works. In Brett's estimation (since he was pretty much a style guru himself, modesty aside), this kid had a pretty good eye for fashion and would probably have a future working as a designer in New York.

Key words being _future_ and _New York_.

Not _right now_, in _Lima_.

Because right now in Lima, being that flashy meant that that kid got tossed into the dumpster. Courtesy of Puck, Finn, and, to Brett's disappointment, Santiago.

Brett had overslept that morning, having stayed up late watching re-runs of _Tom and Jerry_ (his heart broke for Tom every single episode), and so he had arrived to school with only a few minutes to spare. And in those few minutes, he saw a crowd of football players by the dumpsters, surrounding this pale-faced kid with meticulously parted brown hair and a rather handsome gray coat. Brett immediately spotted Santiago (because, duh, he was, like, the hottest person there) and was about to call out to him when Puck and what's-his-face each took the arms and the legs of the pale-faced kid, swinging him twice before tossing him into the dumpster. Puck and some of the jocks hooted with laughter, and gave each other high-fives. Only Finn and Santiago didn't join them, and in fact, they stood apart from the group. But when Puck turned towards them and raised his palms, they both forced a smile and slapped their palms against his.

Their merriment was cut short by the school bell and they all started to troop back to the building. But Santiago seemed to have sensed that he was there and he looked around until he saw him. His face, which had been tense and guarded, brightened almost immediately. He was about to walk towards him when some of his teammates called him. Brett saw him freeze up before joining his teammates, shooting Brett with one last apologetic look.

Things seemed to have taken a turn for the worse sometime in the morning since when Brett finally caught Santiago by the lockers after second period, he was jumpy and his eyes darted from side to side, reminding Brett of a cornered animal.

"San, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Santiago's tone was clipped. He hastily deposited his algebra textbook and took out his battered copy of Dicken's _Hard Times_ and his binder. Brett watched him silently. After a minute of him rummaging his locker for something, Santiago turned to Brett sharply. "Look, can you stop staring at me? I can't remember whatever it is I'm supposed to be getting!"

Brett pressed his lips together in a thin line before reaching over Santiago and grabbing his black moleskin notebook from inside his locker. He then shoved it against Santiago's chest. "Here." And Brett walked away without saying another word.

By lunchtime, Brett's annoyance at the tone Santiago had used earlier had subsided and he was feeling a little sorry for shoving his notebook at him like that. There was something obviously wrong with Santiago today and Brett just had to be patient. Santiago being difficult at times was part of the package after all.

But Santiago seemed to have decided to avoid him for the rest of the day. Brett didn't see him at the jocks' table at lunch nor did he catch him by the lockers in between breaks. His dejection showed during cheer practice and Coach Sylvester made him run ten laps around the oval and to return the equipment they used afterwards.

When he was finally finished with the task, it was already sunset. His whole body was burning from exhaustion and he would have loved nothing better than to just sink to the ground and sleep until kingdom come. But the mosquitoes now starting to swarm around him made him change his mind. He trudged towards the lockers, passing by those of the football team when he heard somebody talking.

"Hey, Lopez, just a piece of advice, man, bro to bro." Brett could feel his body tense up, his fatigue forgotten. "I think you should drop Sparkly there. He's kinda giving me the gay vibe."

Brett edged closer to the door to see if he could look at the people inside. He could, but just barely. Puck stood with his back towards the door while Santiago had his face turned, so Brett could only see half of his face.

"Brett's not gay."

Brett felt his heart stop. They've never talked about this before and Brett had thought that it was simply because there was no need for labels—on them, on what they have. And frankly, Brett didn't think it was all that important. But somehow, the way it was being brought up now made it seem like it was something that could change the course of things.

"You two haven't been playing baseball, have you?"

Santiago's face darkened (he often said that ethnic people don't ever blush, but Brett could always tell when Santiago blushed). After a tense beat, he answered clearly, "No."

Puck crossed his arms in front of his chest and seemed to be eyeing Santiago. Finally, he uncrossed them and walked over to Santiago, patting him on the shoulder. "Nice to know, Lopez. Nice to know."

Brett turned away from the door and hastily made his way to the Cheerios locker room. He quickly peeled off his uniform, grabbed his soap and towel from his locker and headed straight to the shower stalls. As the water beat down against his skin, Brett let himself think about what he had just heard. Brett may not be the sharpest pair of shears in the sewing kit but he could definitely tell a threat. And Noah Puckerman was threatening Santiago. With their relationship. Which Brett still had trouble processing.

He knew enough that two boys being together wasn't very common in Lima, just like two girls. But Brett believed that just because these types of relationships weren't visible didn't mean that they didn't exist. Besides, he couldn't find anything wrong with two boys or two girls being together. Love is love, after all. Shakespeare even wrote some sonnets about it. Or something. (Well he also wrote about cannibalism, but.)

So technically, there was nothing that Puck could threaten Santiago with. So, Santiago shouldn't be scared. But Santiago was obviously scared earlier. Maybe it wasn't because of Puck. But what else could have happened this morning?

Argh. Connecting the dots have never been Brett's forte. Eating them was, though.

After he finished showering, Brett dressed himself in a plain shirt and cargo shorts (which he loved for the pockets—he could stuff lots of candies in there). He grabbed his bag and made his way to the parking lot.

The sun had already set and the sky was now a light purple. It was a cloudless evening and Brett could see the constellations clearly—Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia, Hercules, Cygnus, Andromeda, Perseus. Brett stretched his arms and took a deep breath.

Maybe he was just overthinking stuff. Just because things have been great, it didn't mean that they have to go downhill. That was just the basic formula for all the movies and television shows. But this was real life, and Brett believed that it was possible to be perfectly happy without having to pay for it with a subsequent tragedy.

Brett looked around the parking lot but found that it was empty.

Oh crap. He forgot to tell Santiago that he was held back after practice and that he was still in school. Looks like he was going to walk home. Not that his house was that far. It was just that he had been hitching a ride with Santiago for the past two weeks, and he guessed he got a little spoiled.

Oh well. It was a beautiful evening for a walk.

As he took one last sweeping look at the parking lot, he noticed a small, dull, red light near the trees. Brett's first thought was 'A firefly!' followed closely by 'But fireflies shed green light, and they flicker.' The red light didn't exactly flicker, but it did glow and dim and glow and dim. Almost like a heartbeat. A painfully slow heartbeat.

After a moment, the red light fell to the ground, with the same vehemence of a shooting star. It didn't fade when it hit the ground; it just disappeared.

A figure appeared from the trees and through the orange light from the nearby streetlamp, Brett saw that it was Santiago.

"San!" Brett rushed towards him. Santiago surprised expression quickly turned into a smile. "Why are you still here? I thought you'd gone. Where's your car?"

"Whoa, one at a time, Brett." Relief flooded Brett's heart when he saw that Santiago didn't have that spooked animal look in him anymore. "Practice ran late. And I parked a block down the road since I lost my space when I took a drive at lunch."

Brett smiled. "Why are you still here?"

Santiago tried to keep a straight face as he repeated, "Practice ran—oh what the hell." He rolled his eyes. "Fine, I heard the showers in your locker room was still running and when I took a peek I saw your bag so I waited for you."

"You took a peek while I was in the shower?" asked Brett, grinning.

"Shut up! I didn't take a peek at you showering! Just your locker room." When Brett still hadn't wiped the grin off his face, Santiago shoved him playfully. "If you don't quit that, I'm leaving you."

Santiago started walking away but Brett caught him by the middle. "No, you're not," said Brett in a sing-song voice.

Santiago pretended to struggle out of the hug before relaxing with a sigh. He let his head rest on Brett's shoulder. They stayed like this for a while. Until a car drove past and Santiago jumped away from Brett so suddenly that Brett was almost knocked to the ground.

"San?"

Santiago's eyes were wide and Brett saw it again, the terror. He took a tentative step towards him but Santiago just turned around and said, "Let's get out of here."

The drive to the Pierce House put Brett a little on the edge. Santiago had turned on the radio, but it didn't help to cover up the fact that the air inside the car was tense, not when Santiago was gripping the steering so hard his knuckles were white.

When they finally pulled over in front of the house, Brett asked quietly, "Do you want to come in?"

Santiago didn't say anything, didn't even turn his head to look at Brett. Brett felt a chill.

Finally, Santiago spoke. "Puck gave me a talk today." His voice was small and shaky.

"I know." Santiago turned towards him, his brows knitted in confusion. "I was passing by your locker room and I heard him talking to you."

Santiago looked at Brett, studying his expression. He seemed to be waiting for Brett to continue. When Brett didn't, he sighed and looked away again. "What did you hear?"

"He asked you if I was gay and you said I wasn't. And that we weren't playing baseball." Brett saw Santiago swallow.

"How… how do you feel about that?"

Brett shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. I'm not gay and we aren't playing baseball."

Santiago shook his head disbelievingly as a nervous laughter escaped from his lips. Then his whole body tensed up and he glared hard at the steering wheel before banging his fists against it. Brett flinched. "San, what's—"

Santiago turned sharply towards him, his brown eyes wild and hard. "Listen Brett. You've got to beef up your reputation. These guys, these guys can hurt you and make your life a living hell. It's bad enough that you've joined the Cheerios." His eyes softened, as his voice lowered into a whisper. "Can't you just quit that and join the football team instead?"

Brett almost gave in to the pleading look in Santiago's eyes, but he remembered the thrill he got each time they performed a stunt in the squad. And from what he had seen in the football games, with all the running and tackling, he knew he would never get that feeling there. So he shook his head. "No, San. Football isn't for me."

As if expecting this, Santiago just ran his hand through his short black hair as he looked away, his brows knitted in thought. He bit his lip before breathing out a sigh. "I get it. Just…" A muscle twisted in Santiago's jaw, as if what he was about to say repulsed him. He lifted his eyes to meet Brett's and Brett could see that there was an unnatural fire in them. "Brett, listen to me. You have to sleep around."

"What?"

"Girls, Brett. Flirt with them, sleep with them, everywhere, all right? At parties, hallways, bleachers, hell if you can do it in class without getting caught, that would be great." And as if the energy that had fuelled him to say all these left him, Santiago's shoulders slumped and he dropped his head against the steering wheel. Brett saw that he was clenching his fists at his sides.

Brett's reply was automatic. "But I don't want to do that. I just want to be with you."

Santiago drew in a sharp breath. Then after a while, he answered softly, "It doesn't matter."

Suddenly, it seemed like the air inside the car grow colder. "What do you mean?"

Santiago tilted his head so that Brett could see his face. It was frighteningly calm and his eyes were unreadable. His lips curved into a smile. "Sex isn't dating."

At those three simple words, it felt like somebody had ripped off the wings of the butterfly inside Brett's chest. Brett stared at this person in front of him, trying to look for the boy he knew, the boy who had believed in him, the boy who took care of him, the boy he made love with just the other day.

But Brett couldn't find him.

This person in front of him seemed like a stranger.

Brett took a deep breath before asking softly, "Do you really want me to sleep around?"

"Yeah," said Santiago, his voice sounding so far away. "Yeah."

**xxx**

**[15 March 2009 | 9:20 PM Josh Something's House; 9:58 PM Pierce House]**

At first, Brett was hesitant to do what Santiago had told him to do. But after seeing him the two days day later making out with the girl from the party in the hallway, Brett felt his heart harden. It didn't take him long before some girl draped herself all over him. And it took even a shorter while before he was indeed sleeping around. It seemed like the girls have been trading notes or something (or maybe it was just the Cheerio girls) since they all seemed eager to have sex with him (most of them asking him to do that thing he did with this other girl), and some have even admitted to have heard rumors of him being well-endowed (rumors which were one hundred percent true).

Whatever. Brett was doing what Santiago told him to do. And it turned out that he was enjoying this whole sleeping around thing. Sure, he raised the ire of his male teammates and some of the jocks, but he really couldn't help it, could he, if he was just so damn good at what he did.

He especially loved taking his time in discovering the spots that would drive the girls mad. Though lately he had been wondering if the same spots applied to guys. He couldn't really try it on Santiago now that they have stopped sleeping with each other. So he did what he could to find out.

He started sleeping with guys as well.

It wasn't too difficult to find guys who were open to trying out 'stuff' with him; they were a dime a dozen in his dance classes. And there was one or two or five in school as well, though they all begged him to keep it a secret. Which Brett didn't mind too much; he couldn't even remember their names and faces anyway.

So in the space of four months, Brett felt like he was armed with the supreme knowledge on how to make guys and girls feel good in bed.

It did give him satisfaction at first, but he soon found out that all this knowledge seemed meaningless if he couldn't share them with the one person he really wanted to sleep with.

But Santiago was intent on keeping his distance from him.

Until the party at Josh Something's place.

By now, Brett knew how to have a good time in parties—the key was to get wasted as early as possible, then dance around until some girl would appear and grind against him, then disappear with that girl to a room—or maybe just a corner—and fuck. Oh and to avoid looking for Santiago, who was bound to be sucking face with some random girl somewhere.

(Brett could never keep the last part down. But whatever.)

Within thirty minutes of arriving at the party, Brett was already drunk and he was owning the dance floor and not only did he have one girl grinding against him, he had three. This was definitely going to be a great night. He closed his eyes as he felt their hands run all over his body, a pair creeping under the front of his shirt, another squeezing his ass, another tangling his hair.

When Brett opened his eyes as one hand squeezed his crotch, he saw Santiago looking at him, looking straight at him for the first time in months. His brown eyes were dark and burning with something that Brett couldn't pin down—was that anger? desire? In any case, that look made his insides tingle more deliciously than all the things that the three girls were doing to his body. He curled his lips into a smirk and he quirked an eyebrow at Santiago challengingly.

Santiago furrowed his brows and he bit his lip. Then he downed the contents of his red solo cup in one gulp before heading straight towards them.

Brett could feel himself getting hard.

When he was near enough, he grabbed Brett by the arm and yanked him away from the three girls. There was a chorus of "Hey!" but Santiago just glared at them. They huffed before dispersing.

"I like you possessive," Brett murmured, leaning into him. "It's hot."

He felt Santiago's breath hitch before he was gently pushed back. Brett blinked in confusion. Santiago wasn't looking at him anymore.

"My car is parked across the street." Santiago's eyes flickered to him before he turned his face completely away. Brett almost didn't catch the muttered, "Meet me there in five." And then he was walking back into the crowd.

Brett stood rooted to the spot for a minute, dazed. Then he began feeling tingles all over his body. His face broke into a slow smile. Looked like Santiago was caving in.

He went to the kitchen to drink three glasses of water before making his way outside. There were a few stragglers in the porch but these were mostly the too-wasted-and-ready-to-barf kind and they paid him no heed. He looked around for Santiago's car and sure enough it was parked across the street. He rocked to and fro on the balls of his feet, giddy with excitement. Then after taking a deep breath, he crossed the street.

He leaned against the door of the passenger side. It wasn't that late yet but already the streets were quiet. Typical small town, Lima was. But Brett couldn't bring himself to care much about it, since it was in this small town that he had met Santiago.

Now that his head was clearing, Brett felt the tingles subside. And their current situation came crashing back to him. But before he could let his mind ponder more on this, Santiago appeared. Without saying a word, he opened the car doors and slid in. Brett did the same on the other side.

When they were both inside, and Santiago had put the key into the ignition, Brett spoke, "What are we doing, San?"

Santiago's hand froze as he turned his head to look at Brett. "What do you mean?"

"Are we going to have sex again?"

Santiago stiffened. He turned on the ignition and as the engine roared to life, he said, "Let's get out of here first."

Brett thought that they would be going somewhere secluded but he was surprised when Santiago pulled over at Brett's house. When Santiago had killed the engine, Brett asked, "So we're going to have sex again?"

Santiago seemed to be contemplating something. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was looking hard at his hands which were still gripping the steering wheel. Then his whole body relaxed as he breathed out a sigh. "Do you want to?"

"I want to," said Brett quickly. "I want to, but…"

Santiago turned to look at him. "But what?"

"But I still want us to be friends after."

"But we _are_ friends."

"I know, but I want us to act like we're friends," said Brett, frowning. "And not be avoiding each other and stuff." When Santiago didn't say anything to that, Brett started picking at his fingers nervously.

Santiago placed his right hand over Brett's. Brett looked at him but Santiago still had his eyes on the steering wheel. "I understand," Santiago said softly. "But Brett, you have to promise me… you have to promise that no one will ever know about this, about us."

Brett eyes took in Santiago's expression. He almost looked sad. The sight made Brett's heart hurt. He took Santiago's hand that had been holding his, and raised it to his lips. Then he took Santiago's pinkie finger and laced it with his own. "I pinkie-swear it."

Santiago finally looked at him and Brett smiled when he saw him smiling. "You're too cute, you know that?" said Santiago, laughing a little as Brett swung their linked pinkies.

And because Brett couldn't help it, he leaned over to kiss Santiago's nose. "You too," he whispered, before leaning in again to kiss his lips.

Brett's family were gone for the weekend since Hailey had a soccer tournament to attend to, and Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, always supportive, booked themselves on the same hotel that she and her teammates were staying. So the house was dark and Brett and Santiago didn't have to be extra careful in entering and climbing up the stairs to Brett's room. Brett opened the door to let Santiago in. When he didn't follow, Santiago looked at him questioningly.

Brett grinned sheepishly. "I gotta pee. I drank too much water."

Santiago rolled his eyes even as his lips lifted into a smile. "Go then."

It seemed like a ritual now, Brett supposed, that after every party, when he brought Santiago over, he would go pee and then brush his teeth and gargle with mouthwash and then—wink wink, nudge nudge.

But when he returned to the room, he found the lights on and Santiago standing by his table, staring at the stack of books under it. He lifted one and Brett saw it was one of the terribly long novel that he had borrowed from Mike. Santiago flipped the book open, his eyes skimming the contents before he looked at Brett.

"I didn't know you can speak French," said Santiago, smiling. There was a proud gleam in his warm brown eyes. Brett blushed.

"I can't really speak it, though," Brett said hastily. "I just… understand a bit."

"How—when—?"

"I borrowed some grammar books and a dictionary… and Mike taught me some pronunciation…"

"Hold up, Mike Chang? Isn't he Asian?" Santiago wrinkled his brows. "Shouldn't he be teaching, like, Mandarin or Cantonese?"

Brett opened his mouth to answer but saw the playful twinkle in Santiago's eyes. They both burst out laughing.

"Still though, why didn't I know this before?"

Brett felt his heart stop. He fought back the desire to blurt out, 'Because you've stopped finding out things about me.' Instead, he just watched as Santiago took more books out of the pile and scanned the pages.

"This is really amazing, Brett. Really."

At the ever-widening grin on Santiago's face, Brett found himself blushing again. "It's just… it's nothing."

"Hell it's nothing! It is something! But I don't get it, why are you taking up Spanish then? You could easily get an A in French and then those dumbasses would see how awesome you are!"

"Yeah but if I did that, that would be one less class we'd be sharing."

Santiago's smile disappeared in an instant. "You mean you were taking Spanish… because of me?"

Brett felt his heart drop. He looked away, mumbling, "Well I really want to learn Spanish, too."

Santiago placed the books on the table. He walked towards Brett. When he was right in front of him, and Brett was still not looking at him, he tiptoed to bump their foreheads together. "Hey."

Brett could feel a smile tugging on his lips. Santiago acknowledging his three inches deficit was something that Brett had found endearing. Then a random thought popped into his head and he said, "Did you know 'mayday' comes from the French term 'venez m'aider'?"

"Oh?" Santiago smiled, playing along. "What does it mean?"

"'Come help me.'"

"Well do you know what 'voulez-vous coucher avec moi' means?" said Santiago, his lips only a hair's breadth away from Brett's.

Brett answered him with a kiss.

Brett tugged him towards the bed and they laid themselves down, their lips not breaking apart. They kissed slowly and languidly, and Brett found that he liked this better than any of the kisses he has had with anyone else. Even though girls' lips were softer and some of the guys were pretty adept with their tongue, kissing Santiago was on a league of its own. Maybe it was Santiago's lips, full and so good to swallow with his own, or the taste of him, dark and rich and yet still somehow sweet, or the way his mouth trembled, like he was afraid to want this but yet couldn't stop himself from wanting anyway. Whatever it was, Brett thought that if there was only one person in this world that he could kiss like this, then he would definitely choose Santiago.

They kissed and kissed until Santiago pulled away. Brett pouted but he saw that Santiago's eyelids were drooping. "My kisses make you sleepy?"

Santiago chuckled. "It's not that… I haven't been sleeping well, lately." He closed his eyes and when Brett looked closer, he saw that there were indeed bags under his eyes. Brett wanted to ask why but thought that he would just let him sleep. He was about to get off the bed to switch off the lights but Santiago grabbed his wrist to keep him there.

"Tell me something in French."

Brett paused for a moment and tried to remember a phrase that had made him think of Santiago. "'Ta voix était un encensoir qui répandait d'étranges parfums,'" he whispered, letting the words roll gently from his tongue. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should continue. But the sight of Santiago's serene face decided for him. He spoke again, although in a much softer voice, that still seemed to somehow float around them. "'Et quand je te regardais j'entendais une musique étrange.'" After a while, Brett added, "It's from a play I've read."

Santiago, who still had his eyes closed, asked sleepily. "Why did you choose a quote instead of just telling me your thoughts?"

"It _is_ my thought… or rather, it expresses my thought better than I could ever do."

"Well, what did it mean?"

Brett smiled to himself as he brushed a lock of black hair from Santiago's forehead. "That you have a nice voice."

A low chuckle rumbled from Santiago's chest. His hand which was holding Brett's wrist slid down until he was holding Brett's hand. He then raised it to his face and pressed it against his cheek. Brett felt a tingling down his spine. "That was awfully long for something so short."

Brett couldn't help but think that Santiago only he had to listen more carefully, to try just a bit to understand, and he would have gotten what the quote really meant. Spanish and French were cousins or something, after all. Somehow, Santiago seemed to have been trying less and less to understand lately. And Brett didn't know how to feel about that.

He breathed out a "…yeah" before leaning over and pressing a kiss against the tan forehead.

**xxx**

**[12 November 2009 | 3:10 PM – Glee Club Room]**

When sophomore year rolled in, Brett made a resolution to try harder to memorize the names of the people around him. So when he correctly remembered the name of the new Cheer captain, he pumped his fist in the air.

Which only earned him the raising of a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Quinn Fabray was only a sophomore herself but had apparently impressed Coach Sylvester enough to give her the position, to the jealous mutterings of the other female Cheerios. Brett did remember watching Quinn do stunts last year and yes, she was _that_ good.

(But Brett got the feeling that it wasn't only through her gymnastic skills that Quinn earned her promotion, but her cutthroat ambition and the deceptively sweet way she made everyone do her bidding.)

In any case, when Quinn had been made captain, Brett had also been made assistant choreographer and so, they spent quite a lot of time together. Time which Brett spent half of trying to get into Quinn's spanks, but which always ended up with her rebuffing him coldly with an icy glare. (Well hey, people did say that if at first you don't succeed, try and try again, and in any case, Brett stopped with his friendly offers when Quinn started dating Finn.

Brett wondered for a week after what kinds of names they would give to their children; he even made a list which he gave to her.)

Even when she was constantly narrowing her eyes at him and refusing to let him copy off her during exams, Brett liked Quinn. Maybe it was because whenever she said nice things about the routines he came up with, he was sure she really meant it and not because she wanted to get it on with him. Or maybe Brett was just drawn to her because her hazel green eyes sometimes seemed so sad, and it reminded him of the look in Santiago's eyes when he thought Brett wasn't looking.

He and Santiago still hook up from time to time, and Brett would have been happy to just be with him and no one else but Santiago was adamant that they sleep with other girls as well—and to make sure that everyone knew of it. Brett found this a little confusing since sometimes he saw Santiago look at him and his girl-for-the-hour with such raging jealousy (which would have turned him on had there not been a hint of inexplicable longing and bleakness in Santiago's eyes too).

But whenever Brett tried to bring this up, Santiago would shush him and say "No talking" before kissing him soundly (to take off the sting of being shushed or to make sure he really stopped talking, Brett didn't know).

Anyway, things got more exciting when Quinn asked him—well, no, Quinn Fabray never asked anyone for anything; she gave commands—to join the Glee club with her. When Brett asked why she chose him, Quinn just shrugged and said that the girls were too stuck-up and couldn't be bothered. Brett would like to think that it was really because he and Quinn were sort-of friends.

When Brett told Santiago about this, Santiago had frowned and said, "You shouldn't have."

"But why?"

"You're in a tenuous position as it is, what with you being the Cheerios and all these dumbass rumors of you sleeping with guys—" when he saw Brett smile, he amended, "with other guys. If the guys at the football team hear about this, you'll be dead meat!"

Brett lowered his head and pouted. "But I really want to join Glee club. When Quinn and I checked out their rehearsals, they were singing and dancing. They looked like they were having fun."

"It's a loser club, Brett! You can't be in a loser club, no matter how much fun they might be having!"

Brett was about ready to give in. He didn't like arguing with Santiago; his chest always end up hurting in the end. But then he remembered Quinn's sad green eyes and how she was desperately trying to hold on to Finn, and Brett made up his mind.

"I'm joining." When Santiago just stared at him, Brett continued. "Quinn asked me to and she's my friend. So I'm going to help her out."

Santiago's eyes roamed his face for a moment, before he finally looked away. He let out a frustrated sigh. "I won't stop you if this is really what you want."

"San…"

"I'm just… I'm just worried."

"Don't be. Everything's going to be all right." Then an idea popped inside Brett's head. "Why don't you join the Glee club, too? You, me and Quinn, we can rule there together!"

Santiago fought back a grimace. "Not a chance, Brett. You know what an ass Puck is. He even had Finn shot for joining Glee."

"Finn was shot?" Brett raised his brows.

"With paintballs. Wasn't there, but the other guys told me afterwards. Seems like Finn had lied about his mother having her prostate removed—" Santiago rolled his eyes, "to go watch some group perform at Carmel." He bit the inside of his cheek. "Look, just be careful, all right? Tell your Ice Queen to walk with you at the hallways. Hell you're doing her a favor, the least she could do is to make sure you don't get slushied or—" Santiago sighed. "Just… tell her that, okay?"

Brett did what Santiago said and he talked to Quinn about walking with him in the hallways. She narrowed her eyes at him and scoffed, "I'm not going to walk around with you at my heels like a lost puppy."

But the next day Brett noticed that wherever he was, Quinn wasn't too far away. It made him smile.

Glee club was fun. Brett got to dance to his heart's content and for the first time in what seemed to be a really long time, he felt free. The Glee club kids were okay, Brett liked them all well enough—the stuttering Asian girl (who Brett suspected to be related to Mike or something; he'll ask him that the next time they see each other), the electric guitar-playing wheelchair kid (who reminded Brett of Professor X, with, like, actual hair on his head, and glasses—ooh, maybe he could read minds too); this black girl with a beautiful smile and really great voice (who insisted that she was Beyoncé incarnate, even though Beyoncé was still alive… or so Brett thinks); and the pale-faced kid with the designer coats (who turned out to also have a great singing voice). Yeah, he liked them all except this small girl with an incredibly loud voice and the propensity to fire a thousand words per minute for what seemed like hours on end.

He totally couldn't understand why Finn seemed to want to get it on with her, when he had somebody like Quinn.

(Well, Quinn was sometimes kind of mean to Finn, and she didn't seem to actually want him the way the loud girl, Rachel, seemed to want him, so.)

But that really wasn't any of Brett's business so he shrugged it off.

And then, things got even more fun and exciting when Kurt, the pale-faced kid, had somehow made it to the football team and managed to get them all to do the steps to Beyoncé's 'Single Ladies' and then actually won the game, the first in a really _really_ long time, which then, somehow, made some of the guys in the team join Glee. Guys like Matt, Mike (not that surprising), Santiago…

Puck.

Noah Puckerman. Asshole Extraordinaire. In Glee club.

Holy shh—, the world must really be ending.

Santiago explained later on that Puck had said that joining Glee would add to his appeal, to show that he was a really talented dude and had that sensitive, romantic side to him and that it wouldn't really hurt his reputation because he was such a stud. But what Santiago really thought was that Puck joined the club to be closer to Quinn.

Brett's eyes widened at that. "Puck's in love with Quinn?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure. But it could only be that. I mean, why would anyone who had so much to risk join Glee? Quinn joined Glee for Finn, right?"

"Well, that makes sense. But what about Mike and Matt?"

Santiago shrugged his shoulders. "They like to dance. And since Puck had joined, they wouldn't be getting much heat."

"And you?"

Santiago only looked at him, before a small smile appeared on his lips.

Things were starting to look up again when tragedy struck and word got around that Quinn was pregnant. She was immediately kicked off the Cheerios, and Brett felt so sorry for her. When the Glee kids rallied to support her, singing songs like 'Keep Holding On' and stuff, Brett decided that he really liked being in this club.

Santiago seemed to like being in the club too, though it was mostly because he got to sing though he was loathed to admit it. (Brett liked hearing him sing though, 'cause he really had a nice voice.) And being able to do what he wanted seemed to make him more relaxed and less guarded, the way he never was ever since high school started. Sometimes, Brett would catch him looking at him with wonder in his eyes, like he was looking at something so unbelievably beautiful. It made Brett's insides tingle and the fluttering of butterfly wings return in his chest.

So when their assignment for the week was to sing a ballad, Brett knew what song he was going to sing. He took it as a good sign when Santiago didn't flinch when he picked out Brett's name out of the hat.

He didn't tell Santiago what he was planning to sing, intending on surprising him. Santiago seemed to be at ease more nowadays, and the hunted-animal look in his eyes have appeared less and less. Glee club seemed to be doing wonders to him.

Half of the pairs were to present on Tuesday, and the other half on Thursday. Brett got Tuesday. So when Tuesday rolled around, Brett felt his insides turn to jelly. He wasn't exactly great at singing; just good enough (and frankly, he would rather dance his way to Santiago's heart but had to try to speak Santiago's language—too many times, it was Santiago who had been trying to understand Brett and his mixed metaphors; now was the time to do the same for him). But he hoped that he could make up for this with feelings.

So when he was finally seated on the stool in front of the rest of the club, he let himself be lost with the music. Brad the Piano Man started playing and Brett took a deep breath before opening his mouth to sing.

_When the rain is blowing in your face  
__and the whole world is on your case,  
__I could offer you a warm embrace  
__to make you feel my love._

He could feel his eyes starting to fill up with tears, and it was just the first verse. He swallowed quickly and fixed his eyes on the point on the wall above the heads of the Glee kids. He couldn't make himself look at Santiago. Not yet.

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet,  
__but I would never do your wrong.  
__I've known it from the moment that we met,  
__no doubt in my mind where you belong._

When he finally summoned the courage to make a sweeping glance of his audience, he saw Santiago sitting stiffly, his head tilted to the side, his face towards the floor. He wasn't looking at him. Brett felt himself falter.

He forced his eyes to look anywhere, anywhere at all, and they landed on Brad the Piano Man, who was looking at him with the same blank expression. Then he shrugged his right shoulder, as if telling Brett, 'Sing.'

Brett flashed him a quick smile before singing again.

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true—  
__nothing that I wouldn't do.  
__Go to the ends of the earth for you  
__to make you feel my love._

Brett lowered his eyes as he sang the last line.

_To make you feel my love._

After three seconds of silence, the room erupted in applause. Mr. Schue walked over towards him and clapped him on the back. "Good job, Brett! That was a wonderful rendition of a Bob Dylan classic. We hope to hear more from you." Then Mr. Schue turned to the rest of the club. "All right guys! Let's see you top Brett's performance!"

When Brett stood up, he found that his knees were shaking and it was all he could do to return to his seat beside Santiago. Santiago, who still wasn't looking at him. Santiago, who had inched his chair away from Brett. Santiago, who immediately left the room when they were dismissed, not even bothering to give Brett a smile, a glance, a word.

Brett really should have known. There was a pattern, wasn't it?

He could hear the sound of something ripping.

**xxx**

**[10 January 2010 | 11:11 PM – Pierce House]**

Brett and Santiago haven't talked since that afternoon. But Brett was sufficiently distracted for a while with the Glee club drama, which had escalated to a record-breaking high (not that there was any to begin with) when it was revealed that it was Puck who had gotten Quinn pregnant, and then Finn went all mad and chair-kicking crazy and he disappeared just before Sectionals, and then their setlist was leaked to their competition (and it may or may not have been Brett's fault), and they were all driven to the depths of despair just before the show, only for Finn to magically reappear with the setlist, and then they won but Rachel met Mr. Schue's son (oh wait, no, they weren't related) who was from Carmel and they started dating and the whole club was in uproar—

In short, shit went cray.

But then the drama lost its novelty after the New Year and Brett found himself missing Santiago terribly. They seemed to be back to the way they were after their first kiss, after Brett joined the Cheerios, after that night when Santiago said that sex wasn't dating. It seemed like no matter what they did, they just kept on walking into some sort of portal that brought them back to that point when they were not together, where everything just hurt.

It seemed like they were in a loop. Not a complete time loop, since the events still differed, but a loop in progress-digress-regress. A one step forward, two steps back. Brett wondered if this was also covered by the realm of time, and whether his time-machine could give him an alternate time-and-place where his heart didn't get torn then taped back together, only to be torn up again.

It was honestly tiring.

Some nights, Brett would wonder why he couldn't have just chosen somebody easier to love. It wasn't like there was nobody else. There were a couple of girls—and one or two guys—who seemed willing to make everything more than just about sex.

But then again, Brett seemed to have a knack for sticking to the more challenging and uncertain option. Or maybe there never really was a choice. Like everything had been set right from the start so that even if there were easier, more pleasant alternatives, Brett could never make himself go after them.

Maybe it was fate.

And then Brett remembered with a smile how Santiago always came back to him sooner or later—that night outside the theatre, and after the parties at Melinda Gray's and Josh Something's. Maybe if he waited this one out, Santiago would come back.

Maybe.

Lately, there have been an awful lot of 'maybes.' Brett wondered if there would be a point in the future when he'd have certainty.

When Santiago came over one late Friday night, Brett started feeling that yes, he was going to have certainty.

Santiago had sent him a text that simply read: _I'm here. Can we talk?_

Brett thought of sneaking down and letting Santiago in through the front door or back door, but it was rather risky, since his parents knew he was already home. So he texted back: _come 2 my window_

There was an oak tree just outside of the window of Brett's room, and though he and Santiago haven't climbed up that tree in a while, Brett was still sure it was strong and sturdy.

In ten minutes, Santiago was tapping on the glass. Brett went over to lift the window open and let him in. Santiago was wearing his black jacket but he still shivered from the cold winter air.

Brett watched him silently as he stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and lifting his hands over his mouth to warm them with his breath. After eight heartbeats, Brett went over to him and took his freezing hands and placed them around his neck. Santiago looked at him, his brown eyes wide and soft.

They stood there for a while, looking at each other. A thought crossed Brett's mind and he slipped his hands around Santiago's waist, lacing his fingers on the small of his back.

"Now we look like we're dancing," Brett whispered.

"Aren't you mad at me?" Santiago's voice was small.

Brett didn't answer, and instead started swaying them side-to-side, in time to the music that Brett could hear inside his head, the music that he only heard when Santiago was looking at him. They danced together like that, what would seem to an outsider an odd silent dance in a brightly lit room. But for Brett, he could think of nothing more romantic, more perfect than a dance like this.

Santiago pulled away first. He gently removed Brett's arms from around his waist. He kissed his hands before pushing Brett to the bed. Contrary to what Brett had expected, Santiago just sat him down. Then he moved towards the table by the window, keeping half the room's distance between them.

"Why won't you come sit with me?" Brett asked.

"Because we have to talk." Santiago shifted. "And I find it hard to do that when I'm so close to you."

Brett smiled at that. But it soon disappeared when he saw a shadow cross Santiago's face. The whole room suddenly became chilly. To break the cold spell that seemed to be swallowing the room, Brett spoke up. "What did you want to talk about?"

"The song you sang at Glee last year. Why?"

"Because."

Santiago frowned. "Don't."

Brett sighed. "You really don't know?"

Recognition flashed in Santiago's eyes but he shook it off. He was silent for a while.

"You shouldn't have sung that," he finally spoke.

Brett frowned. He could feel prickly heat spreading from his chest to his neck and his face. He clenched his jaw. "Well I did."

Santiago mirrored his frown. Then he closed his eyes, and he covered his face with his left hand. He let out a huff of frustration. "Why do you keep doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Drawing attention to yourself! To us!" Santiago's eyes snapped open and Brett could see there was a wild look in them, the familiar cornered-animal look. Santiago swallowed. "Don't you get it, Brett? We can't be like Lady Hummel. We can't be..." he hesitated before repeating, "We can't be friends of Dorothy!"

"But why? I want to be friends with Dorothy." Brett paused for a moment, studying Santiago's expression. Santiago seemed to be debating whether Brett was being serious or not. And as if deciding on the former, a scowl appeared on Santiago's face. Brett met his eyes calmly then continued in the same even tone as before. "I think Toto and Lord Tubbington are gonna hit it off, maybe Toto can teach Tubbs the way to sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' without yowling, and even help him wean away from smoking and drugs. And joining gangs."

Santiago shook his head, as a nervous laugh bubbled out of his lips. "You know that's never going to happen. I'm not… we're not…" He gulped before continuing in a shaky voice, "We're not _gay_."

Brett stood up and walked towards Santiago, who had ducked his head when he saw him approach. When Brett stood directly in front of him, he put his hands on either side of Santiago's face and gently lifted it up until they were looking at each other eye-to-eye. He noticed that there were bags under Santiago's eyes. His chest started to hurt. He kissed Santiago on the forehead before drawing back to look him in the eye again. "We're not gay," he said softly. "We're just Bretton and Santiago."

Santiago's eyes flickered between Brett's before he buried his head on the crook of Brett's neck. Brett ran his hand up and down Santiago's back, willing the ragged breaths to calm down. When Santiago's breathing had more or less evened out, Brett led him to his bed and sat him down. He quickly made a trip to the door to switch off the lights before returning to the bed. He tugged the jacket off Santiago's shoulders before squatting on the floor before him to untie the shoelaces and removed the shoes from his feet. Santiago watched him, almost like a small child who couldn't do anything by himself. Brett pushed him down on the bed, urging him up until his head was resting on the pillow.

Brett pressed a kiss on his lips. "Sleep."

Santiago just looked at him, wide-eyed. Brett chuckled before running his hand over each of Santiago's eyes, drawing down his eyelids. Then he kissed them both before climbing on the bed. When he was comfortable, he looked at Santiago and smiled when he saw that he had kept his eyes closed, even as his breathing indicated that he hadn't fallen asleep yet. Brett snuggled against him, resting his head just above Santiago's shoulder and wrapping one arm around Santiago's waist. It didn't take long before Santiago breathing slowed into the even rhythm of sleep, and for Brett to follow.

An hour or two later, Brett woke up to an empty space beside him and to the faint sound of muffled sobs from somewhere in the room. He slowly turned his head to look for the source when he saw a figure huddled in the corner. Brett squinted his eyes to see more clearly. The figure had his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around the tops of his knees, and his head buried in the space created by his arms. His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly, in time with the sobs that managed to escape him.

Brett's first instinct was to rise up and hurry towards the figure and wrap his arms around him. But a realization came upon him, coming swiftly on the heels of his instinctive response, and he kept still.

It was obvious that this wasn't something Brett was supposed to have seen. So he closed his eyes and waited. Brett wasn't sure what exactly he was waiting for—for sleep, for the sobs to stop, for the figure to return to his side, for dawn, for a time when they could just be happy.

Brett had counted up to five hundred thirty-three heartbeats when the sobs subsided. Then the figure returned to the bed and laid himself down. His shuddering breaths didn't take a long while to even out, the progress sped up by exhaustion. He was soon back to sleep.

But Brett had stayed awake until he saw the rosy light of dawn through the window. He couldn't stop thinking about the boy huddled in the corner.

His brave boy who wouldn't cry in front of him.

**xxx**

**[3 February 2010 | 10:02 AM – McKinley High; 12:08 PM – Cafeteria; 12:35 PM – Principal Figgins' Office]**

Brett supposed he should have seen this one coming. Santiago had been warning him about this since the start of freshman year, after all. But the years of having Santiago by his side—cutting people who were mean to Brett up with his vicious, vicious words—had sort of spoiled Brett. Santiago had always been there, even when Brett didn't get to see him or talk to him.

Nowadays though, Santiago had been sort of avoiding him again. Sort of. He had been making out with girls in the hallways (and under the bleachers and in between classes) more than usual, but with obvious (well, it was, to Brett) lack of passion and interest. He didn't avert his eyes or made conscious efforts to stay away from Brett whenever they ran into each other in the hallway or in class. But he also didn't say anything to him, just passed him silently by. Brett sometimes thought that he looked like he was being walked out to a shooting squad. Brett didn't understand it.

But he soon started to, when he suddenly felt something cold and frozen thrown to his face, stinging his eyes in the process. He felt it trickle down his neck and the front of his uniform.

"How'd you like that, faggot!"

Loud, raucous laughter echoed in his ears before somebody shoved him from the back, slamming him against the cold metal of the lockers. Hard. He felt the hinges cut the side of his face. He stayed there, not moving a muscle, and waited until the laughter died away. When it did, he slowly pushed himself off the lockers. He tried wiping the remnants of the slushy off his face with the back of his hand.

"Brett!"

Brett turned to the source of the voice and tried to open his eyes but they still stung. Then he felt somebody wipe his face with a handkerchief. When Brett finally managed to open his eyes, he saw that it was Mike Chang.

Brett stared at him for a moment until he noticed the other people in the hallway looking at them. And in one of those moments of clarity, Brett realized that Mike could get in trouble if he didn't leave him right now. So Brett pushed Mike's hand away (but grabbing the handkerchief 'cause he kinda really needed it) and muttered, "I'm fine." Then he hastily made his way to the nearest restroom but changed his mind when he saw some guys exit from there. Instinct was telling Brett to just go to the restroom near the janitor's closet that nobody ever seemed to be using. So he went there instead.

Just like he thought, the restroom was empty. He went over to the sink, soaked up Mike's handkerchief and started cleaning himself. He managed to wash his face and neck but his hair was going to be all sticky and gross for the rest of the day. The red has soaked into his uniform and Brett knew Coach Sylvester would flay him alive if he went to practice looking like that. Thank heavens he always kept an extra set in his lockers. He was debating whether he had time to head there now to change before his next class (but then again, his teachers had been telling him that maybe his grades would improve if he _didn't_ go to class at all) when the door to the bathroom opened and Mike walked in, his varsity jacket hanging over one arm. He smiled, "Took me a while to find you."

Brett blinked. "What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering, he handed Brett his jacket. "Here."

Brett took the jacket. He fingered the material gingerly. Mike leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

After a long silence, Mike spoke. "You know we don't think of you any differently, right?" Brett looked at him questioningly. "You're Brett Pierce, and whoever you choose to be with doesn't change that."

A smile slowly appeared on Brett's face at those words. "Thanks, Mike."

The bell rang, signalling the start of the next class. Mike moved away from the wall. "Let's go?"

Brett shook his head. "You go ahead. I think I'm going to try and clean up a bit more."

Mike nodded then he went out.

Now that Brett was alone again and the initial shock of having been slushied for the first time have worn off, he got to thinking. He was wondering if this was exactly what Santiago had been afraid of all this time. Sure, Brett didn't like the feeling of having slushy dripping down his face or of being shoved in the lockers, but they didn't seem too bad. Not when some people were still behind him (if what Mike was saying was true). He thought of the other Glee kids who've been the victims of slushy attacks ever since their freshman year, and how they still managed to keep the songs in their hearts alive.

If this was what Santiago was afraid of, well, it kind of seemed like he was over-reacting. Brett could take this. And he was sure Santiago could, too.

He wiped his face one last time before slipping on the jacket and zipping it up to cover his stained uniform.

"Everything's going to be all right," he whispered to his reflection on the mirror. He took a deep breath and then went out of the restroom.

When the next two periods passed without further incident (save for some stares by some random people, some mutterings from some of his Cheerio teammates, and some snickers from the jocks), Brett was starting to believe that everything _was_ going to be all right.

Then came lunch.

Brett had been taking his lunch with his Cheerio teammates and the Glee kids on alternate days. Today was a Cheerio-lunch day. But when he walked towards their table, his teammates all turned to look at him. When he put down his lunch tray on the table, one of them—Timmy, Teddy, Tony?—spoke up. "Sorry dude, you can't sit with us."

Brett was about to ask why when a loud shout was heard over the lunch-time din in the cafeteria.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Immediately, everybody was rushing to the windows and the door that opened out to the track field. People were pushing and jostling and Brett soon found himself carried by the crowd towards one of the windows. He squirmed around to free himself, only to be pressed even harder against the glass. So he stopped struggling and just tried to see what was happening outside.

There on the open field were a couple of guys tackling each other. Brett felt his heartbeat speed up when he saw that some of them were wearing varsity jackets. And he was pretty sure his heart stopped when he saw one of them was Santiago.

Santiago, who was already sporting a cut below his left eye but was still in a fierce rampage, launching himself against this huge footballer. There was a roar and Santiago began pounding his fists on the fallen guy. But he was soon thrown off by three others, two of which held his arms apart while the third started punching him in the gut.

Brett felt sick to his stomach and he wanted so badly to go out there and cover Santiago, but his body refused to move. It was like he had turned to ice and all he could do was watch.

Suddenly, somebody barrelled against the third guy, and Brett was shocked to see the familiar mohawked head. Puck! Puck was saving Santiago! What on earth was going on?

Puck kicked one of the guys holding Santiago down, and bashed the nose of the other one. Santiago dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. Puck knelt over to check on him but he was struck by a blow behind his head by that huge guy that Santiago had tackled earlier. Puck rolled over to the ground.

Then the huge guy laughed. "I knew it! Glee has turned all of you into a bunch of homos!"

But Santiago, who seemed to have recovered a bit, launched himself again on the huge guy, knocking him over. The guy retaliated by grabbing a fistful of Santiago's shirt and throwing back punches.

As Brett watched helplessly, all he could hear inside his head were the words _Stop the violence! Stop the violence!_

God, Allah, Buddha, Ahura Mazda seemed to have heard him since he saw Mike and Matt rush towards them. Mike put his arms around Santiago's shoulders to restrain his thrashing arms. The huge guy saw this as an opportunity to strike but Puck, who was back on his feet, and Matt managed to pin him down again.

And the teachers finally made their timely appearance.

Principal Figgins made his way to the front and said in a voice loud enough to be heard even in the cafeteria, "Everyone, in my office! Now!"

Brett waited anxiously in the hallway outside Principal Figgins' office, along with a small crowd. Puck, Matt, Mike, and Santiago plus the four footballers have been inside for fifteen minutes now and Brett could only pick out the sound of Principal Figgins' thickly accented English. And finally, after what seemed like hours, they filed out of the office one by one. The four footballers first, their faces already purple and swollen, and then Matt and Mike, who didn't have a scratch on them, then Puck, who was holding an ice pack behind his head, and finally, Santiago, who was holding a cloth against the side of his face, a cloth that was stained bright red.

"San—!" Brett tried to call out but the crowd started moving and he lost sight of him.

He didn't see him again for the rest of the day, and for a week afterwards.

**xxx**

**[12 February 2010 | 3:18 PM – Glee Club Room; 4:01 PM, 4:37 AM – Pierce House]**

In a few days since the incident at the field, Brett was able to piece together what had happened, thanks to the school's biggest gossips, Tina and Mercedes. Apparently, Santiago had confronted Dave Karofsky, the bulky footballer, after he heard that Brett was slushied by Dave and his minions.

"—and then Karofsky said, 'It's cute you're so worried about your _boyfriend_'—"

"—he was referring to you—"

"—and then things just spiralled downhill from there—"

"—culminating in the fight at the track field at lunch."

Brett thanked them before walking out of the club room. They had Glee that day but Brett couldn't bring himself to stay and sit through the hour when Santiago's absence was too burningly obvious. He went straight home and locked himself in his room, not saying a word to his parents or his sister.

He just laid there in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, as he tried to think over the events the past few days, namely of Santiago crying and then getting beat up.

Both because of Brett.

He had always thought that he could make Santiago happy. But now, for the first time ever, he wasn't so sure. For the first time, Brett was confronted with the possibility, maybe even the reality, that being with him was going to hurt Santiago in the end.

Santiago, who had been taking care of him ever since they were little. Santiago, who had believed in him and in his dreams, when nobody else did.

And what had Brett ever done for him in return?

Nothing, except giving him more and more reasons to be scared, more and more reasons to get hurt.

How could he have been so _stupid_ as to believe that he could make Santiago happy, when he couldn't even pass school without any help, when all he was ever good at was using his body, when he couldn't even keep Santiago safe from such a hostile world.

A sob escaped Brett's lips. He lifted his hands to touch his cheeks and felt them wet. He didn't realize he had been crying. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, willing them to stop the tears.

He didn't know for how long he had been crying or that he even fell asleep, but he woke up hours later, with a blanket covering him and milk and cookies on his bedside table, and a note that said: _Dinner's at the fridge. Love you, honey._

A small smile appeared on his lips. Then he noticed the time on his duck-shaped clock. It said that it was 4:37 AM. But the soft blue light from the window said it was later than that. Brett took the clock from the table and watched the second hand intently.

Time seemed to have stretched infinitely and for a moment, Brett wondered if this was what 'time dilation' was.

Maybe the igneous rocks under his bed were finally doing their work.

(Maybe it was because it felt like his heart had turn to lead and was pulling everything down with it.)

But the moment was broken by the sound of the birds chirping and Brett sighed. He put down the clock, making sure it faced him. He laid himself on the bed again, staring at the frozen time.

4:37 AM.

As he listened to his heart beating with a steady cadence, he wondered how fitting all this was: the clock died, but time still flowed on; his heart was breaking, but he still loved on.

**xxx**

**[16 February 2010 | 7:48 AM – McKinley High-Parking Lot]**

Brett had been standing beside his car (which had been given to him when he started sophomore year) for twenty minutes now. He had seen the near-empty parking lot fill out with cars. But he was keeping his eyes out for a black BMW.

It was strange that although he was about to do something that would change his whole life, he didn't feel nervous. In fact, he felt rather calm. Like his mind and body had gone auto-pilot, following pre-set instructions.

And so when the car he had been looking out for finally appeared, he felt himself making its way towards it with calm, measured steps. He saw Santiago get out of the driver's side but his heartbeat didn't speed up, like it used to whenever he saw him. He took the sight of a band-aid under Santiago's right eye (barely covered by the sunglasses he was wearing), and the slightly yellowish tinge on the side of his face with a steady eye.

"Santiago."

Santiago gave a start when he saw him. Brett felt a twinge in his chest. Santiago seemed unsure whether to turn on his heel and leave or to stay and talk.

"Don't worry, I won't take long." When Santiago nodded, Brett continued. "I just want you to know that it's perfectly fine with me if you don't want to be associated with me anymore." Brett saw his brows furrow into a frown as he mulled over the meaning behind these words.

"You don't have to protect me anymore."

That seemed to clear things up in a flash. Santiago's mouth turned down violently and he seemed so ready to start swearing.

But he didn't.

Instead, he just looked at Brett for a minute. His mouth was pressed together in a thin line. Then he nodded.

"All right."

The calm, soft way he said those two words made Brett smile a little. Even as he felt like he was in a coffin and somebody just hammered the final nails on the lid.

Then, with the same synchronicity that had been distinctively theirs for years, they turned around and walked away in opposite directions.

**xxx**

**[Interlude]**

If before Brett had thought that time was in a loop, now he was pretty sure it was in a limbo—it seemed like it was still flowing, but it really wasn't.

And frankly, he could care less.

The days started to swirl together in his head in the dull palette of life without Santiago. Whenever Brett remembered the past few weeks, he felt himself getting sick and he would run to the restroom to vomit. But nothing ever came out.

He still saw Santiago every day but they no longer acknowledged each other. Brett never knew that this would sting more than when Santiago had actively avoided him. It was like Brett had become nothing.

It even made him question if he ever was something.

When he thought this, he became terrified at the realization that he had built his life around Santiago, had woven his existence so finely with his that losing him was like losing himself.

He didn't know who he was without him.

So Brett started to go back to the basics.

He started reading his dream journals again, remembering the first memories he had of the worlds that only he could see. He remembered the forests under the sea, the soothing womb of the earth, the rainbow lights at the end of the world.

He reviewed the notes he had made for his time-machine, the blueprints and equations, the factors that he had isolated that could potentially alter time, the limits and potential risks. Doing so had reminded him of the immensity of his dream, and he wondered how he could have set this aside.

He then worked harder than ever, making trips to the library, scribbling down more notes, gathered more rocks and experimented with atomic clocks.

In a month's time, he managed to make significant progress, altering his schedule and moved his test runs earlier than he had first estimated.

This should have made him happy.

But he wasn't.

And then as he was looking over the Venn diagrams he had drawn for the elements that could have an effect on the altering of time-space and on each other, he realized that he was going about this the wrong way.

He shouldn't have made Santiago his whole world.

But neither should he exclude him from it.

Santiago was, and would always be part of Brett's world. It was just a simple fact of life. And just because they couldn't be together now, it didn't mean they would never be.

With all his dream of building a time-machine to explore the different worlds he had seen, didn't he know it better than anyone else? That anything was possible? Because it was.

Anything was possible.

**xxx**

**[24 March 2010 | 11:02 AM – McKinley High; 3:11 PM – Glee Club Room]**

Every day had become more bearable to Brett. He was no longer drifting by like a zombie, nor was he eagerly burning though them by working on his machine like crazy. He was now actually living each day, relishing each moment. Sure, not everything was picture-perfect, but then again, real life wasn't always picture-perfect. In fact, it rarely was.

But there were definitely days that one wanted to keep remembering again and again. (Brett knew this very well; he even had a journal of the dates-and-times of such days. And well, of other not-so-perfect days too but Brett had his reasons.)

"Yo Brett!"

Brett paused from taking out his notes from his locker, and turned to look at the caller. To his surprise, it was Puck (now mohawk-less and baby-less). And when he realized that it was the first time that Puck had ever called him by his name, his surprise grew threefold. Nevertheless, his body automatically tensed. Even after Puck had helped Santiago against Karofsky and his dudes, Brett was still unsure on what to think about him. He was kind of an ass last year and for most of this year.

Puck must have sensed this since he just quirked his brow and said, "Relax, I come in peace. I'm just here to say that there's a Glee club meeting or something later on so go to the club room after class."

"But I thought Mr. Schue said that we have our TTh's free now that Principal Figgins has given us another year?"

"Listen, I'm just the messenger, and I've given you the message. If you've got questions then just go to club room later." And with that, Puck left. Brett followed his retreating figure with a frown. Then he shrugged his shoulders and resumed taking out his notes from the locker.

When Brett went to the Glee club room, he found the door closed but the lights switched on. He peered through the glass panel on the door first to check if anybody was in yet. When he saw that the seats were empty, he frowned but entered anyway.

He stopped when he came by the piano. He ran his hand along the keys as he remembered that day so many months past when he had sung a song in front of so many people for the first time ever. His lips quirked into a smile. It seemed so long ago. Things didn't actually go according to plan, and the song didn't end with a kiss, but still, he wouldn't trade it for anything.

He would never trade the days when he had felt so in love with Santiago.

"I almost thought you weren't coming."

Brett's head snapped up. He wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him, because that voice definitely belonged to—

Santiago emerged from the shadows at the corner of the room, where the other entrance was. He was wearing a tentative smile, even as he was holding a guitar by the neck.

Brett just stared at him.

Santiago licked his lips nervously. "I know we sort of broke-up—I mean, well, it's not like we ever were together, like together-together, but well—I know things have been weird between us, and I'm not really sure what we are now, and I know it's sort of my fault but—" He took a deep breath. "Can you just give me a few minutes of your time?"

Brett felt himself smile at Santiago's adorable rambling. He nodded.

Santiago breathed a sigh of relief and he gestured to the rows of empty seats. "I think you better sit down."

Brett made his way front row and sat himself on the middle seat.

Santiago had made his way to the center of the room and was now slinging the guitar strap over his shoulders. When Brett realized what he was about to do, he felt his heartbeat speed up.

Santiago furrowed his brows as he placed his fingers to the proper chords. Brett saw him swallow before starting to strum.

_If I give up on you, I give up on me,  
__if we fight what's true, will we ever be?  
__Even God Himself and the faith I knew  
__shouldn't hold me back, shouldn't keep me from you._

Brett listened intently to the lyrics. After singing that song last year, he realized how important the lyrics were and if his ears wasn't deceiving him, this song might actually be Santiago's way of admitting something to him, something that Brett had already known through his touches, but the actual verbalizing of which would mean taking a step towards certainty.

_Tease me, by holding out your hand,  
__then leave me, or take me as I am,  
__and live our lives, stigmatized._

It was both overwhelming and yet not enough.

_We live our lives on different sides,  
__but we keep together, you and I,  
__just live our lives, stigmatized._

But Brett now knew better than to push for more than what Santiago was ready to give. The fact that he was singing to Brett—and Brett knew how much this meant to him, as much as dancing was to Brett—well, it already spoke volumes.

_We'll live our lives, we'll take the punches every day.  
__We'll live our lives I know we're gonna find our way._

Brett felt a lump grow on his throat.

_I believe in you,  
__even if no one understands.  
__I believe in you, and I don't really give a damn  
__if we're stigmatized._

This was it, this was a promise, and Brett was ready to wait, because Santiago was the only one for him. In this world and all the other worlds. He was sure of it.

As Santiago finished singing the last lines of the song, Brett could see that his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. He looked away and took a sharp breath before turning back to Brett. He smiled, almost shyly. Brett walked over to him, and took his hands in his.

"Thank you."

But Santiago shook his head. "This was… this was my apology of sorts, and, well, it's a promise too—" Brett smiled at this, "—because, Brett, despite the uh," Santiago's hands twitched as he tried to gesture but Brett just squeezed them, finding this quirk of his so adorable, "present tense of the verbs in the lyrics—though there were two lines with the future tense but that's not the point—" and now Santiago was frowning at his own nerdiness, "—the point is, I'm not ready yet, but I—I will be, I know I will be, because you—I—"

And finally because Brett couldn't help it anymore, he leaned over to press a soft chaste kiss on Santiago's lips.

"I know."

Santiago's eyes flickered between his, before a smile slowly appeared on his lips. "You do?"

"When it comes to you, yes, I do."

Santiago let out a soft, happy sigh. "Okay." Then after a beat, he asked, "Will you go to church with me?"

Well, Brett definitely didn't expect _that_.

"To what?"

"To church. This Sunday." Santiago licked his lips as his eyes darted around the room. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he locked them to Brett's. "My parents and I attend mass every Sunday, and I—I want you to be there, too. With me."

An overwhelming feeling of happiness surged in Brett's chest. This was a step that he hadn't counted on seeing anytime soon.

"Of course," Brett choked out. "Of course."

**xxx**

**[27 March 2010 | 10:00 AM – Church]**

Attending mass with the Lopezes was probably the most nerve-wracking experience that Brett ever had the pleasure to undergo.

For one, he knew that he was supposed to wear his Sunday Best but _yeah, right_ that would have been really helpful if he actually had a Sunday Best or that he even knew what it was supposed to look like. So he ended up wearing a suit. A freaking suit. On a Sunday morning. (But he totally let this go when he saw Santiago eyeing him rather lasciviously.)

But the icing on top of the cake would be getting the approval of Dr. and Mrs. Lopez. Because even though Santiago didn't say that he would be introducing Brett to them as his boyfriend, Brett was pretty much sure that bringing him to an event that was a solid family tradition was tantamount to a declaration of his place in Santiago's life. So when Mrs. Lopez enveloped him in a hug when he arrived at the front porch of the Lopez House, he felt that the challenge was half-met. Dr. Lopez, though, well he did deign to grant him with a brief glance.

When they arrived at the church, Brett was struck by the beauty and solemnity of the cobbled exterior of the edifice. And his wonder only increased when they entered. The whole place was large, and the stained glass windows lined either side of the walls. At the front were the statues of angels and of a couple that could only be Mary and Joseph. In the middle of them all was a crucified Jesus, looking dignified and magnificent despite, or maybe because of the wounds all over His body. Though Brett was still reeling from the sight all around him, he did his best to pay attention and not to stare.

They took their seat on one of the front pews.

Brett didn't know the songs or the responses (or even when to stand up and when to sit down) but he did his best to follow, and to pay attention to the words. He may not be a Catholic, but he was willing, eager even, to learn and to understand the aspects of this important part of the Lopezes' lives.

When the mass was over, Brett wasn't feeling nervous anymore. In fact, he was rather thoughtful, turning the homily over and over his head. It centered on Mary's cousin, Elizabeth, and how she had waited so long to have a child and then she was finally blessed with one, and John the Baptist (who Brett supposed was a great man, too), no less, with the priest emphasizing the importance of patience, and how everything was in accordance to God's plan. (And Brett may not believe in God, but that didn't mean he didn't get the point that the priest was making.)

He didn't realize he was smiling until Santiago nudged him by the shoulder.

"What did you think?" he whispered.

"I think it was awesome," Brett replied honestly.

Santiago's eyes darted between his for a moment, before a huge smile appeared on his face, making his dimples appear. "I'm glad."

"Will you be joining us for lunch, Bretton?" Mrs. Lopez asked, when they had reached the Lopez family car.

"I—uh—"

Santiago suddenly spoke up. "Before we leave, can I… can I speak to Papi first?"

Mrs. Lopez smiled and turned to her husband. Dr. Lopez looked at Santiago for a moment before giving a curt nod. Santiago and Dr. Lopez walked towards a shaded part just a few feet from the parking lot.

Even though Brett wanted to give them privacy, he couldn't help but watch the father and son as they talked. Dr. Lopez's face was, as always, set and unreadable, in contrast to Santiago's, who obviously was trying to keep a valiant facade, but couldn't keep completely wipe out the anxiety from his face.

"He's such a silly boy."

Brett nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around to see Mrs. Lopez watching her husband and her son, as well. Despite the lines on her face, she was still startlingly beautiful. She turned her gaze from them to meet his. She smiled a soft, gentle smile, one that Brett now realized she had often showed when watching or talking to her family. She was smiling that smile at him.

Brett suddenly felt an urge to cry.

"We've always suspected, you know. He has never shown any interest in anyone, not even a fraction of what he showed in you. And the way he talks about you, like you're the most wonderful person in the whole world… which I can very well see now." She opened her arms and Brett instinctively stepped into them. As she held him, she whispered, "I'm really glad that it's you he fell in love with. He gets so scared so easily, so please be patient with him." She drew back and touched his cheek lightly with the tips of her fingers.

Brett knew he probably looked gross right now, with tears streaming down his face and snot dripping down his nose, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not now when he could see his dream slowly coming true.

When the Lopez men finally returned to the car, Brett saw that Santiago's eyes were shining and there were tear stains on his cheeks. Dr. Lopez stopped just in front of Brett and Brett was immediately aware of his less-than-comely appearance. His spine stiffened and he stood in attention.

Dr. Lopez raised his hand and rested it on Brett's shoulder. "Please take care of my son, Bretton."

Brett's eyes widened and he stared at the tall man in front of him. Then he glanced at Santiago and Mrs. Lopez, both of whom were smiling brightly. He turned his face back to Dr. Lopez before nodding his head furiously.

"I-I will, Dr. Lopez… I'll take good care of him."

**xxx**

**[Postlude]**

In the end, Bretton Pierce didn't really want to use the time machine to fast-forward and pause these moments. Because all these, they were a promise, they were part of a bigger picture. He knew now for sure, that the time would come when Santiago wouldn't be afraid to hold his hand in public, when he would be able to kiss him in front of their friends, when they could get married in New York and have kids.

"It sure surprised me when I saw Puck rushing to help you back at the field," said Brett, as they were lying down on the grass on the Lopez backyard and tracing the constellations in the night sky.

Santiago chuckled. "Well, he said, and I quote, 'I may not be cool with guys banging each other but… I do know what it's like to be in love, and it's pretty obvious that you two are. In love. So I'll have your back.'"

Brett laughed. "So typical of Puck. But I still don't like him though."

"You don't have to."

Brett rolled over so that he could rest his elbows on the ground and look at Santiago properly. "So are you?"

"What?"

"In love?"

Santiago crinkled his brows. "You really don't know?" When Brett only bit his lip, Santiago huffed. He also rolled over so that he and Brett were now face-to-face. Then he leaned over and kissed him. "I love you," he whispered as he drew back. "I love you so much."

Brett smiled widely. "I love you, too." Then he leaned forward to kiss him again.

When they finally pulled apart, Santiago grinned. "So, when do we get to travel?"

"Soon." Then Brett added, "When we're married. It will be our honeymoon."

And then they kissed again, just because.

* * *

**A/N: Title taken from Marcel Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past." Songs used are Bob Dylan's "Make You Feel My Love" and The Calling's "Stigmatized." The translation of the French quote, which was taken from Oscar Wilde's "Salomé," is: "Thy voice was a censer that scattered strange perfumes, and when I looked on thee I heard a strange music."**


	3. Hello, 180

**Hello, 180  
**_Brittany Pierce x Santiago Lopez_

* * *

"If I plant a honeycomb outside my house, will it really grow into a beehive?"

It had all started with this one simple question, and before Santiago knew it, his life had taken a 180-degree turn.

**xxx**

**From 0-10 degrees**

If there was one word that Santiago Lopez would describe himself, it would be paradoxical.

Take, for example, the things he loved.

Ever since he could remember, he had loved singing. At first it would be the songs from Disney movies but he soon outgrew them and he began rifling through his mother's music collection resulting in the discovery of musicals (from _The Sound of Music _and _My Fair Lady_ to _Jesus Christ Superstar_ and _Grease_) and of Elton John, Neil Diamond, Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, etc. And when he had started belting out 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,' his mother decided that it was time initiate him to the wonders of duet. And baking.

(Because according to Maribel Lopez, "There is nothing like singing while making sweets; makes them even sweeter.")

And as it turned out, Santiago also loved baking. He loved the aroma wafting in the kitchen, of the smell of apples and cream that seemed to stick to him for hours after, even just the mere thought at the wonders of transforming all these ingredients into something better. It was like magic.

It soon became a Sunday morning ritual, and the sound of him and his Mami singing along to Captain and Tennille weaved itself finely with the smell of baked goodies, which they would take to his abuela in the afternoon (and in the moments between, he would undergo a tiny transformation, since his abuela was remarkably old-fashioned and wasn't too fond of the notion of her grandson doing 'womanly' activities—to which his Mami just rolled her eyes).

(His feelings for his abuela were a curious mix. He admired her greatly for her strength of character, loved her for her kindness which she would always hide beneath layers of tongue-lashing, but he also feared her immensely for her biting words and sharp temper.)

He loved his Mami but he often wished she wouldn't be so affectionate with him in public. It was embarrassing. So although he loved her, he would act all aloof and petulant when they were together outside.

(This only made Maribel Lopez smile and roll her eyes, "Boys.")

Santiago's father was a doctor, a really good one, and Santiago supposed that he loved him, too. (He definitely respected him, but love was another thing.) It was kind of difficult to tell, when his Papi never seemed to be around the house, save for a few brief moments. Sometimes Santiago thought that he hated his Papi a little, for not being around when he was awarded first place in the Science Quiz Bee, the Spelling Quiz Bee, and the Math Quiz Bee. But he also knew that his father's job would always take precedence (he totally learned this term while studying for the Spelling Quiz Bee) and he found that he couldn't really hate him at all.

(Though this didn't mean he wasn't, even for just a tiny bit, resentful.)

It actually didn't help that during Sports Day, all the other kids would have their moms and dads with them, and although his Mami would always be there, he felt more keenly the empty space beside her. Not to mention that some of the other kids were dickheads and would taunt him, asking him where his daddy was, or if he was a bastard, or if he had left his family back in Mexico. (For the record, his family was Puerto Rican.)

These things always end up ugly.

Santiago found himself at the Principal's Office more and more, and his Mami would apologize to the other boys' parents in his behalf. This would break Santiago's heart a little, making him open his mouth to apologize as well, but then he would see his father—who always found a way to be there in Santiago's less-than-flattering moments but never in his stellar ones—looking at him with disappointment, and Santiago would become angry once again, angrier even, and instead of apologizing, he would just scowl and cross his arms.

Santiago has this oh-so-wonderful habit of not-talking about his feelings since he felt that nobody would understand. Besides, things always sounded sillier when said out loud, as if certain things remained more real, more precious, more reasonable, if they just remained inside his head. So when his Mami would ask him afterwards why he did those things, he would just remain scowling and would refuse to answer.

So Maribel Lopez did what she had to do, she grounded him.

Which would have been more effective, had Santiago not discovered the joys of reading. So instead of feeling remorseful whenever he was grounded, Santiago could care less. He loved reading, but as he had by now learned, he decided to keep the things he loved to himself, and not let anyone else know about them. They wouldn't understand, anyway.

(To be honest, Santiago would have gotten into a whole lot more of trouble had his abuela not stood up for him. "Why discourage his fighting spirit? That is the very same spirit that had made your bisabuelo protest with Campos, and my own parents to cross the Atlantic to start a new life here, Dios mio! Let him be! Let him be!")

(He loved his abuela a little more.)

It didn't take long before his Mami realized that grounding him wasn't making a mint of difference, so she had asked her friends what to do, and one of them suggested that Santiago be introduced to a sport where he could channel his rage (because, as it turned out, he had a lot of it—he thought that it was just because he had all these knotty feelings he couldn't completely make sense of).

He was introduced to football.

**xxx**

**At 10.5 degrees**

Santiago didn't exactly love football. But when his abuela crowed with delight upon hearing the news that he made it to the middle school football team, well, he would be lying if he said that it didn't make him happy. (Afterwards, she even put a picture of him in his football gear on her fridge door, much to his embarrassment.) Besides, even if he didn't love the sport per se, he loved the feeling of the adrenaline rush when he would be running across the field, dodging and tackling, and sometimes, scoring goals.

(He wondered if loving something because of its offshoots could qualify as loving the thing itself.)

Another thing that he loved about—or was it because of?—football, was the sight of the blue sky whenever they have practice. Because, to be honest, Santiago wasn't much of an outdoorsy person, since it was pretty difficult to find a quiet place where he can be alone outside, which meant that if he did go out, he would meet people, and putting him in contact with other people often led to bleeding noses and broken jaws… theirs, of course, rarely ever his. So most of the time, he would rather hole up in his room, or in the library, and read. But because of football practices, he was given a reason to go out, and the opportunity to be underneath the great blue dome. He loved blue skies because they made him feel that he could do anything, be anything. It made him think of possibilities.

And the last thing that he loved because of football would be the friends he was able to make. Yes, most of his teammates were dickheads and would crack every racist joke they could think of, but there were two or three who would stand up for him—usually they were boys of color, as well. So when he wasn't reading or playing football, he would hang out with his friends.

(It never ceased to amaze him that he was capable of making friends.)

It was mainly because of this last thing that made Santiago quite angry when he and his family had to move from Cleveland to the small town of Lima just when he was about to enter high school.

**xxx**

**At 11 degrees**

Lima Heights Adjacent wasn't a terrible place to live in, even if it was well out of the way of the 'main' neighborhood. The houses in this area was a motley sort: the ones nearest to the Lima proper were admittedly, shabby-looking and some even seemed to have been former crack-houses; but further in, or rather, higher up, the houses were progressively more respectable-looking, and some even looked rather beautiful.

Needless to say, the Lopez house was one of the more beautiful ones.

Santiago, though he still resented the move, rather liked Lima Heights Adjacent since living in this kind of place gave him privacy, and street cred, too, what with the neighborhood's front making it look like bad things happen here regularly. Which, again, wasn't true, since their few neighbors were mostly elderly rich people, who were perhaps avoiding the mere mortals who lived below.

Not that Santiago was ever going to reveal that; he has learned in his sixteen years of existence that having a reputation safeguarded a person from a lot of things.

The badder, the better.

**xxx**

**From 12-15 degrees**

William McKinley High School was exactly what Santiago had expected: a boring, ordinary school, filled with stereotypical personages such as the popular kids (who tossed slushies), the losers (who were slushied), the lost souls (whose mere purpose in this place was to be an audience) and the invisibles (who might as well not be there).

He immediately despised everything about this school, this small town, and he started calculating the number of days to go before he could finally go to college.

(A little voice inside Santiago wondered if he could make friends in this place, if he could find somebody who would be able to make things bearable for him in this cow-town.)

('Fat chance,' he mentally snapped at himself.)

Nevertheless, Santiago went over to the bulletin board where the sign-up sheets for various clubs and organizations were pinned up. Even though the school's football team was known for not having won anything in, like, forever, football has sort of become Santiago's safety net. It was a sure way to put him at the top of the social pile and not have anybody push him around, if what he had seen in the hallways was anything to go by.

(And, besides, it was where he found his friends in Cleveland before; maybe he could find some here.)

After signing his name, he double-checked the schedule for the try-outs, then he breathed out a small sigh.

High school in a small town. More like the antechamber to hell.

Predictably, and with minimum effort on his part, Santiago got into the football team, and not one of those benchwarmers, too. He was one of the few freshmen who would get to play during games—the other guys being Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman.

And to Santiago's surprise, after two practice sessions, they became his sort-of buddies, as well.

Finn Hudson, though freakishly tall and bumbling, was actually very promising and he was being groomed to be the next quarterback. He also seemed nice and well-meaning, always with this goofy smile on his face. Even so, Santiago didn't exactly take to him; there just seemed to be something dangerous underneath his mild exterior. Like a hidden asshole potential, all the more menacing because one wouldn't expect it from him.

Finn's best friend, Noah Puckerman, or Puck, as he insisted to be called, was this guy with a weird-ass mohawk, the purpose of which was for the chicks to have something to hold on to. Or so he said. Like that even made any sense. Puck was an asshole, that much was clear from the get-go. He would always make lewd comments and crack gay jokes, and was not too shy from using physical intimidation on the losers in the hallways. Santiago hated him, but at the same time, he liked him marginally better than he liked Finn.

(Maybe Santiago just didn't like Finn. Maybe in another life, Finn had done something unforgivable to Santiago.)

In the next few weeks, Santiago's initial assumption, i.e. the badder, the better, was once again proven correct. In fact, this seemed to be the motto of the entire popular kids clique.

"It's, like, the rule of the jungle, dude. We have to keep all those losers in check or else they'll start having these crazy ideas that they could talk to us, or sit with us at lunch, or worse," Puck lowered his voice in a whisper. "They'd think that they could be friends with us."

Santiago didn't have much experience of bullying other people; the fights he had before were all reactive, none were initiated by him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be the one to initiate things this time around.

Puck must have noticed him hesitating since he continued, "Don't tell me you're chickening out? Look, Lopez, we have to keep things in order around here, and that means showing these losers who's boss. Just think of it this way: do you like where you are now? Do you like being on the top of the pile? Because if you do, you'd have to keep tradition. You may be a football player now but that doesn't mean you can flout the rules." Puck backed away and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's either you're with us, or against us."

Santiago glanced at Finn, who was standing nearby. He had a constipated look on his face but he didn't say anything. When he noticed Santiago's eyes on him, he immediately looked away.

"So what's it gonna be?"

Put that way, Santiago's answer was obvious.

He smiled bitterly at the irony: people wanted to be popular so that they could do whatever they want, but as it turned out, being popular didn't mean freedom at all; if anything, it seemed like a prison, a gilded one, yes, but a prison nonetheless.

The next few weeks were a blur in Santiago's memory. He vaguely remembered some events like being handed a slushy to be tossed at random people, or driving around and throwing eggs at people, or helping Puck tossing somebody to the dumpster. The first few times afterwards, he would feel something crawling under his skin, or taste something bitter at the back of his throat. But he eventually found a way to cope: if he didn't focus on anybody's face and think they were real, all these wouldn't feel as bad.

He had now left the antechamber: he was now in hell proper.

And he had been given the position of overseer.

It soon became automatic, and quite easy, since there were only a handful of people who were exempt from slushying: his fellow football players and the Cheerios. Once he recognized a teammate or see the red Cheerio uniform, he then moved on to the next person.

Sometimes he thought that he even got a perverse pleasure doing these things, the feeling of power. (Power, not freedom—because that was what being popular really meant, right?) The way people would part for him in the hallways, the way they would stutter and offer him everything they own when he cornered them, the way the girls would look at him (though his looks may account for this as well)… well, these did give him a thrill.

For as long as he was in school or with the company of his football buddies.

Because the moment he was alone and away from this place, he felt an intense feeling of disgust towards himself, for becoming the asshole he had so despised. The only time he ever escaped this feeling was when he immersed himself in the books he was reading (well, actually, singing too, but his Mami had become rather suspicious with his song choices—maybe 'Highway to Hell' was too obvious—so reading books, it was). It started to look like he was splitting himself, two different hims at school and at home.

(Not that the concept was new to him.)

For a while, this arrangement worked for him.

Until he saw somebody cry.

It was just some scrawny kid who had been carrying around this ugly knitted thing—Santiago couldn't tell if it was a scarf or a dish rag—burying his face in it and Puck said, "Check out that loser; he must have some kind of textile fetish. Come on, let's straighten him out."

And by straightening him out, Puck meant shoving the kid against the wall while Santiago yanked the thing away from him and between him and Puck, they ripped it to shreds. As they were laughing and giving each other high-fives, the kid burst out crying.

"Oh come on, you pussy. It's just a stupid rag; I bet you can find another one at the janitor's closet to jerk off with!" Puck rolled his eyes as they started to turn away. What they didn't expect was for the kid to say something back.

"That was from my mom!" the boy screamed at them. Both he and Puck froze on their tracks, as people started to stare at them. Santiago was about to look back but Puck elbowed him and gave a subtle shake of his head.

"Walk it off," said Puck, his face still wearing that cocky smirk.

Santiago hesitated but when Puck started walking, he followed suit. Sobs punctuated each step they took away from the boy. When they had rounded off a corner, Puck cast a glance towards him.

"Don't worry, we didn't physically assault him," said Puck suddenly. "We just accidentally bumped him and ripped that scarf." He shrugged his shoulders carelessly but Santiago noted the slight tension in his shoulders. He said nothing.

That night, when his father, on his rare night off, mentioned over dinner how terrible the situation at the hospital was, how they were understaffed, Santiago spoke up. "I'll volunteer."

Dr. Lopez stopped talking midway and there was a brief awkward silence. Which was broken by Mrs. Lopez.

"I think that's wonderful!" she said, beaming.

Dr. Lopez just looked at his son. "Hospital work is no fun and games, mijo."

"I know." Santiago kept his eyes on his plate, still cutting his steak to pieces, despite the fact they were now smaller than bite sizes.

"Look at me."

Santiago raised his face hesitantly. His father's face had always been an unreadable mask to him, and now was no different. "Tell me the truth, why do you want to volunteer?"

The automatic response came out of his lips, like it was studied. "Because it's important to help others." When his father still didn't say anything, Santiago added, in a smaller voice, "And I want to know more about your line of work."

(Santiago was acutely aware that these weren't the real reason, but neither were they lies. They were half-truths and to be fair, there was no gracious way to explain the turmoil he had been feeling all this time ever since he entered high school, and which had spiked up because of the event that morning.)

Dr. Lopez just looked at his son for a moment longer until his wife caught his eye and gave a subtle nod. For a second, Santiago was distracted by this silent conversation between his parents and he couldn't help but marvel at it. But his thoughts were soon cut off when Dr. Lopez cleared his throat.

"Well then, you will be expected to fill in at least eight hours every month. The schedule's flexible, so considering you have school and football practice, you can just put in hours on weekends. Comprende?"

"Si."

That night, Santiago wondered why he could never change things about himself, always choosing to take on other things, doing something else instead.

(Was this a manifestation of cowardice?)

**xxx**

**From 16-17 degrees**

"Look over there."

Santiago, who was still bent over, clutching his knees and panting heavily from the laps Coach Tanaka had made them run, looked up to where Puck was pointing. There, on the other side of the field, were the cheerleaders practicing their routines. Even in this distance, they could hear the cheerleading coach celebrity, Sue Sylvester, yelling through her megaphone.

"You think this is hard? Try removing your own appendix! That's hard!"

"I'm feeling that the time's ripe for some little getting-to-know action with those spanks. What do you say we introduce ourselves to them? High time that we get ourselves some Cheerios, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, sure." Santiago stood up and stretched his arms. "I have to go ahead; hospital duty."

Puck scowled. "You know, dude, that excuse is getting old. How many hours do you actually have to fill in for that shit?"

"Seventy-two. And if you can't grasp how far away that number is from one, I suggest you take a good look at where you're standing and then at that oak tree over there."

"I don't see any oak tree."

"Exactly."

As he made a move to go, Puck laid a hand on his shoulder. "Seriously, why do you have to do that, anyway?" Then a slow grin crept up his face. "Oh, is this your version of my pool-cleaning business? Doing some… corporal works of mercy?" Puck wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

"Sure, Puck, the smell of antiseptic turns me on like no other." Santiago shrugged his hand off and started walking away.

"Really? Antiseptic does that?" Puck called out after a minute.

Santiago resisted the urge to go back and give his teammate a whack in the head. Maybe when Puck had his head shaved, his brain cells were shaved off as well. He just continued walking towards the locker room. Along the way, he saw Finn's bumbling figure jogging from the opposite direction.

"You're going home now?" Finn asked, when he was only a few feet away.

"Hospital duty."

"Must suck, huh?"

"You have no idea." Santiago observed with dread that Finn had stopped just in front of him and seemed intent on making conversation.

"It must be really terrible there in Lima Heights Adjacent, to have so many gang-fights that require you and your father to attend to the victims yourselves."

"Yeah, well, you know, we're a tight neighborhood up there."

Finn's face broke into a smile. "But at the same time, I think it's cool that you get to bond with your dad like that. I wish I had that opportunity." Santiago furrowed his brows at this but Finn was already saying something else. "Have you seen Puck?"

Santiago jerked his thumb behind him. "He's probably over at the Cheerios' by now, starting a conversation by comparing landing strips."

Finn blinked, still smiling pleasantly.

Santiago rolled his eyes. "Never mind. He's just over there."

"Oh right, he's been saying that he wanted to officially meet them… wait, you don't want to meet the Cheerios?"

"I don't see the point burdening my brain with names of people I could care less about."

Finn screwed up his face in what Santiago supposed was his confused look. "But they're our cheerleaders. We should at least say hello to them and—"

"—acquaint our crotches with theirs. Yeah, got the memo. But as I've said, hospital duty. I'll just say hello to them when we've actually won a game. Later."

After a curt nod, Santiago started walking again. But he didn't get very far when Finn called out to him.

"Oh wait, but you are going to Roger's party later, right?"

Santiago paused and mentally visualized his calendar of events and ticked off the number of times he had weaselled out of a party—twice already this month, meaning he shouldn't miss this one. "Yeah sure. I'll be there."

After taking a shower and changing, he headed to the parking lot. When he was in the privacy of his care, Santiago breathed out a sigh. When he had first volunteered for hospital work, he didn't expect that it could be used as a convenient excuse to get out of activities he could do well without. Not that he was complaining. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a while before starting the engine.

Nicole, the middle-aged receptionist, smiled when she saw him come in through the sliding glass doors. "You're here again. You know, you're putting the rest of us in a bad light, with you coming by so diligently. Slack off, why don't you?"

Santiago gave a quick awkward smile back. "Three slushies today."

Nicole shook her head, still smiling. "Three hours then." She started checking the schedule on her computer. "I haven't met anybody who loves slushies as much as you do. Don't you get brain freeze from drinking all those, almost every day?"

Santiago shrugged his shoulders. "Not really, I'm used to it."

"All right then." She looked up from her computer. "The elderly people have their group session, so that means you get to go to the children's ward." She smiled again. "I doubt that's gonna take up three hours."

"Maybe you'll have some odd jobs for me after."

"I'm sure your father must be so proud of you."

Santiago said nothing. He just nodded to her before walking down the hospital corridor, towards the children's ward.

**xxx**

**From 18-20 degrees**

Parties, Santiago had learned earlier on, were best enjoyed drunk. Or rather, _only_ enjoyed drunk. Sober, everything just seemed like a wild mating ritual minus the procreation part, and these events were near the top of Santiago's list of can-avoid-will-avoid. The guys were usually competing against each other on who could chug faster or playing beer pong, and the girls were mostly dancing—of course, the majority was actively participating in the aforementioned sterile-mating-ritual, ranging from the casual verbal flirting with the occasional 'accidental' touches, to furious mutual attempts to swallow each other's tongue, and of course, to the zenith of SMR: home run.

The SMR was actually a pretty good gauge of popularity, depending on two factors: the number of people and the extent of the activities. In other words, the more girls who wanted to make out with a person and the more times they hit home run, well, these pretty much confirmed one's popularity, or what Puck would call being a stud.

Puck was the undisputed top stud, of course. He had already declared himself a sex shark and would go after any girl indiscriminately. Finn, well, he did get his fair share of girls wanting to kiss him, but Santiago highly doubted he ever made it past the second base. Everything about him just screamed 'virgin.' Santiago, on the other hand, wasn't that far off from Puck, maybe even second, but he really could care less if he was on the fifth or ninth (just as long as he was twenty, fifty ranks above Finn).

It wasn't like he didn't enjoy sex. Of course he did, to a certain extent. But in contrast to Puck who seemed to grow even more self-assured and confident with every girl he slept with, Santiago felt the exact opposite. In fact, at first, he had felt nothing, and it was only when he had done it twenty or so times that a feeling of accomplishment kicked in.

(Which predictably didn't last very long and then it was back to the feeling of emptiness.)

So he opted to just go to every other party (to keep his rep) and stand somewhere he could be easily spotted, and then wink or smirk randomly, and it wouldn't take longer than three minutes before some girl would drape herself over him. (Though he wasn't foolish enough to think that this was evidence of his being a stud; these things worked both ways, after all.)

Of course, he had learned to drink so much until his reservations would melt away in order to do these things successfully. His flirting when sober, though still yielding results, wasn't quite as impressive, it seemed. (Which was another reason why he chose not to meet the cheerleaders earlier, though he would never really admit this to himself.)

He had been at the party five minutes and he was already on his third Whiskey and Coke, when two bulky figures staggered towards him. He recognized them as his football teammates, though unlike him and Puck and Finn, they were still delegated to benchwarmer-status.

"Yo, Lopez, we heard you like playing nurse at the hospital," said one of them—Azimio, Santiago remembered—with a leer. "I bet you enjoy those candy-striper outfits, huh?"

The alcohol was already making Santiago's head buzz but he was still nowhere drunk enough to just sock the guy in the face. He scowled but quickly changed it into a smirk. "Oh yes, I do enjoy them, especially when I take them off those hot nurses." One of the advantages of hanging out with Puck is that his douchebaggery came in handy at times like these. "Sweet, and those creamy thighs—not that you two would know anything about these things, limpdicks."

Azimio furrowed his brows as he clenched his fists.

"True, isn't it? Have you ever even kissed a girl? 'Cause it looks like you're doomed to a life of involuntary celibacy, not that I can't see why not. So why don't you just go to a dark corner and jerk off to whatever the fuck you think a pussy looks like."

"You fucking asshole!" Azimio lunged towards him but his companion caught him by the waist.

"Cool it, Z!"

Santiago smirked. "Good thing you have your owner to keep you on your leash." He downed the remains on his solo cup before heading to the other room where people were dancing.

He leaned against the wall, apart from the gyrating mass of bodies. He rubbed his temple. Anger and alcohol were never a good mix, and he could feel his head throbbing in time with the pounding bass of the dance music playing.

"Hey there, Santi." A pretty girl with shoulder-length brown hair pressed herself against him. "Waiting for somebody? Or were you waiting for me?"

'Oh great,' Santiago thought. But he nevertheless wrapped his arms around the girl's waist and pulled her even closer to him. He did remember somebody say before that sex was a good cure for headaches. He smirked. "For you, of course. Look around, who's your competition?"

The girl giggled before pressing open-mouthed kisses on his neck and grinding her hips against his crotch. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on the feeling but the music was seriously hurting his head.

"Let's go somewhere else," he growled.

The girl fluttered her eyelids and giggled some more. "You do know how to get a girl all worked up."

Her giggling and her voice hurt Santiago's head even more so he kissed her. Hard. That seemed to shut her up for the meantime and Santiago took advantage of this to lead her out of the place to look for a room.

As they cut their way through the crowd, something made Santiago stop in his tracks. He frowned and tried to look around, but his headache was getting worse so he just pinched the bridge of his nose before making his way again. The girl didn't seem to have noticed that anything was amiss.

Later, after he had zipped up his pants and he and the girl have exited the laundry room, he looked around again, but he didn't find what he was looking for.

Whatever, he must have imagined it earlier.

The sight of sky-blue eyes looking at him.

**xxx**

**From 21-45 degrees**

When he was in the school hallways and not slushying anybody, Santiago liked to walk with tunnel vision and hearing. It made things easier for him, not noticing other people's existence, especially those that he had victimized. After all, he couldn't risk walking around with a little twig of conscience digging into his chest. He'd lose his head.

But ever since that night at the party, he couldn't help but be in the look-out for blue eyes, even though Santiago had been convincing himself that it was either his imagination or a trick of the light—because there was no way eyes that seemed to have taken all the blue in the sky existed in reality, or at least in Lima.

In fact, he was starting to believe that it must have been really his mind playing tricks on him, since he hadn't seen those eyes again. (There were other blue eyes of course, but they were the ordinary kind, the ones that Santiago could care less about.)

"…you know, Quinn, I've been wondering—"

Apparently, vision and hearing were connected since when Santiago stopped practicing his tunnel vision, he also automatically stopped blocking out the chatter around him.

"—if I plant a honeycomb outside my house, will it really grow into a beehive?"

Santiago's footsteps stilled. And before he could stop himself, he said, "Or a piece of honeycomb so as not to waste too much."

His eyes widened in surprise.

Oh shit. This was one of the main reasons he tried to block out other people's voices; he had that horrible tendency to blurt out things that were vaguely (or, in those rare moments, clearly) connected to whatever his ears picked up. Which wouldn't be so bad if his brain's default setting wasn't on literature or classic songs.

And now he just quoted _Winnie-the-Pooh_. In the hallway. With people around.

_Winnie-the-_freaking_-Pooh_.

(Damn those hours at the children's ward.)

He was about to make a quit exit without looking around him when the voice said, "That makes sense."

Santiago wasn't sure what compelled him to turn around, maybe it was the sincerity in the speaker's voice, as if she honestly thought what he said was good advice. Maybe it was fate.

Because when he turned around he saw those sky-blue eyes looking back at him.

They belonged to this unbelievably beautiful girl with blonde hair tied up in a high pony and wearing the red-and-white Cheerio uniform. On her face was a bright smile, which reminded Santiago curiously of the artless and heartfelt smiles of the children he visited in the hospital. In fact, this girl seemed really pleased to see him and Santiago frowned as he made a quick mental search if he had seen this girl before, well, apart from that night at party. Nope, he hadn't met her before; he doubted he'd ever forget a face like that.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a bird faintly chirping. Strangely, it seemed to come from the lockers.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

It was only then that Santiago noticed the other person beside the blue-eyed girl. It was also another blonde girl with the same high pony and Cheerio uniform, though a bit shorter and with hazel-green eyes. She was also beautiful (though Santiago thought that the blue-eyed girl was in a league of her own), in the old Hollywood movie star tradition, like Grace Kelly or Ingrid Bergman. This girl furrowed her brows in irritation.

"Brittany! For the last time, you can't keep that bird on your locker!"

The blue-eyed girl turned towards the green-eyed one and said, "But she's hurt and there's no one to take care of her."

"You've already been reprimanded by three teachers, and didn't they say you have to see Ms. Pillsbury? Like, right now?"

"Oh, right, I knew I was forgetting something." The blue-eyed blonde—Brittany leaned over to the inside of her locker and patted something, the bird, Santiago supposed. "Don't worry, you're safe here." Then she closed her locker door gently.

"The bird has to go," said the other blonde, crossing her arms.

Brittany frowned. "Once she's well enough." Then she turned to Santiago and smiled at him again. "I'll see you around."

Santiago didn't realize he had been standing there looking like an idiot until the girl, Brittany, swivelled around and walked away, disappearing in the crowded hallway. He shook his head, turning away himself, before he even made a bigger fool of himself by gawping.

What on earth just happened?

(He ignored the fluttery feeling in his stomach.)

He didn't get very far when he heard the other girl call him.

"Hey, you, football player." Santiago felt a muscle twitch in his temple at the imperiousness of the voice. He hated it when people talk to other people like they owned their souls. He contemplated ignoring her but then he remembered some of the guys whispering about how devious the Cheerio girls could be when angered—or was it just their Coach? (In any case, 'Hell hath no fury…')

He turned around, walked back towards the girl, before asking in a clipped tone, "What do you want, cheerleader?"

The girl seemed amused at the borderline-disrespectful tone he used. "You're the one who helps out at the hospital, right?"

"If having sex with the nurses count as helping out, yes, I am."

The girl screwed up her face in disgust. Santiago rolled his eyes. There was no way he could really answer that question safely when a girl was the one asking it. If he said the truth, chances were she'd blab it to his teammates and he'd have to stand their jeers and taunts. If he used the expected answer, well, the results may vary, depending on the girl's moral standards. But it looked like this girl was one of the rare ones: now that he thought about it, he may have seen this girl before, saying some speech for the Celibacy Club at one of his classes.

"Whatever. Take care of this bird."

Well that did it. Santiago quickly uttered a silent prayer for the Lord to grant him patience, which, after two seconds, he concluded didn't reach heaven since he was now scowling at the girl. "Look here, Blondie: one, I am not your servant-boy so I don't see any reason why I should do what you say; and two, I help out at a hospital for _humans_, not animals. Learn to tell the difference."

The girl seemed surprised at first at his brusque refusal but she soon narrowed her eyes. "Like you learned to tell the difference between helping out and sleeping around?" Santiago raised his brows. Well he had to give this girl some credit: she has a strong spirit. But no way in hell was he going to be somebody's dog. He glared at her and she glared at him back.

Then she finally pursed her lips and rested her hands on her hips. "Fine." Then she smiled sweetly. "Will you _please_ take care of this bird? Surely care for animals do not differ that greatly from care for humans?"

Santiago didn't miss the mildly sarcastic tone underlying her sweet smile—how could he when he used sarcasm himself, like, ninety-percent of the time?—and he just crossed his arms over his chest. He could leave right now, he knew, but fine, he _was_ a little concerned about the bird, too.

When Santiago still didn't say anything, the girl rolled her eyes and dropped the act. "I'd ask our school nurse if I didn't doubt her ability to still see in front of her."

Santiago nodded. He remembered one of his teammates, Dennis, being injected with the anti-tetanus vaccine three times (because of shaky hands) before Mrs. Lancaster, who was really _really_ old, realized she was supposed to give them to Roger.

The girl quirked her brow. "So, are you going to do it?" When Santiago still didn't say anything, she huffed in exasperation. "Just do it, all right? If Brittany comes back and finds the bird still here and in this sorry state, God knows what she might end up doing. Maybe build a nest in the hallway and dress up like its mother."

Well that caught his attention. "Brittany?"

"Yes, the girl that I was…" The Cheerio girl narrowed her eyes as she seemed to have realized something. She fought back a smirk before Santiago saw it. "Yes, Brittany, that sweet girl I was talking to earlier. She's so kind and gentle and it would really break her heart if this poor thing isn't given proper care and attention."

Even if Santiago didn't see the smirk, he saw through this act, and he flushed when he realized his interest had been so obvious. A part of him was tempted to walk away now, but a greater part of him was sold. Damn, this girl was really good. He wouldn't be surprised if she became the Cheer captain or something by the end of the year.

He sighed as he uncrossed his arms. "Fine, give it to me." She gave a little smirk of triumph before turning and forcing Brittany's locker open with her nail file (unscrupulous, aside from determined and manipulative—definitely Cheer captain material). She then took something that looked like a bundle of rags and then handed it over to Santiago. When he lifted a fold, he saw a small blue jay that looked weak but definitely still alive.

The girl closed Brittany's locker when the bird was safely in Santiago's hands. And then, because he couldn't help his curiosity, he asked, "Why would you even trust me? For all you know I could end up killing this creature."

The girl glanced back at him and shrugged her left shoulder. "Woman's intuition." Then she started walking away. But before she had taken a few steps, she turned back to him and added slyly, "And I trust Brittany's assessment of people." And then she was gone.

For half-a-minute, Santiago just stood there, holding the blue jay and forgetting to breathe.

**xxx**

**At 45.5 degrees**

Santiago ended up spending his time in between classes and during lunch trying to make a splint for the bird's right wing, which he had noted was hanging limply and awkwardly, and making sure it had enough water and a few grains of rice (he really didn't know what birds eat, aside from worms, and there was no way he was digging around for them). He definitely couldn't keep it in _his_ locker, so he ended up taking it to a hard-to-reach spot under the bleachers.

He found himself praying for the bird to survive. He didn't think it would reflect greatly on his abilities if his first patient died.

Not to mention that girl, Brittany, would probably be heartbroken. Not that he cared what she felt, of course.

(Well, maybe just a little.)

(A lot.)

"Yo Lopez, where were you? I haven't seen you around today."

Santiago snapped out of his thoughts. When he saw Puck still looking at him with an eyebrow raised, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Oh, you know. It's one of those days best spent with some extra-curricular activities." He added a smirk, just in case Puck didn't get what he was implying.

That seemed to have done the trick since Puck slapped him on the back. "Whoa, who is it this time?"

"Don't know, never really bothered myself with names."

Puck laughed. "Spoken like a true stud."

The thought of asking about that girl, Brittany, crossed Santiago's mind for an instant. But he stopped himself when he remembered that the information Puck gave about girls were always on how they were in bed and in what positions he had them. If Puck had slept with Brittany, he'd rather not know. Just the mere thought made his blood boil.

He slammed his locker so hard the sound echoed through the entire locker room, making the few people who had remained after practice jump back, Puck included.

"What the fuck, man!"

Santiago shot Puck a nasty glare. "Just remembered I've got hospital duty again today."

"Then what's with the temper? I thought you enjoyed banging those nurses."

"Not this time."

And though he hadn't showered off yet, he grabbed his bag and went out of the locker room. He hurried towards the bleachers to get the blue jay, then he headed towards the parking lot. He dropped off his bag on the back seat and gingerly laid the bird's house of bundled rags on the passenger seat.

The drive towards the hospital was the slowest Santiago ever remembered going. And when he was finally in the hospital parking lot, he remembered he was supposed to go to the veterinary hospital.

Fuck this shit.

For the second time today, he hated his reflexes.

There was no way he was going to spend another forty-five minutes driving. Besides, care for animals did not differ greatly from care for humans, right?

When he laid down the bundle in the front desk, Nicole looked at him curiously. "You do remember this is a hospital for people, right?"

Santiago flushed. "Animals are people, too," he mumbled.

That made Nicole smile. "I suppose. What happened to it, though?"

"I think she broke her wing."

"It's a girl?"

Santiago frowned. He was pretty sure he had been referring to the bird as 'it.' Then he remembered Brittany refer to it as 'her.' Somehow the difference in pronouns made the bird's existence more personal. Wait, why was he even thinking about this? "Uh, yeah." Then to keep himself from thinking any more useless thoughts, he asked, "So can you take her in?"

Nicole pressed her lips in thought. "Protocol dictates that I say no, but since you've been helping us out, I think I can make an exception. Fortunately, we do have somebody here who had studied a bit of veterinary medicine. I'll call him up."

As she made the call, Santiago walked over to one side of the lobby and leaned against the wall. When Nicole was done, she beckoned him to come closer.

"Dr. Smith is finishing up with his last patient consultation, so he'll be attending to the bird shortly." Then she looked him up and down. "Did you come here directly after your football practice?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"This bird must be really precious to you. Is she yours?"

"No, I just found her today. At school."

"Are you going to keep her?"

"I don't know. I'm not good at taking care of—animals." Santiago looked down at his shoes. "Besides, it's too early thinking about that. We'll have to wait and see first, right?"

Nicole smiled. "Of course."

And because the awkwardness of the conversation weighed down on him, Santiago blurted out, "I'll do as many hours as needed as compensation."

Nicole rolled her eyes. "Oh come on. The work you've done is more than enough. And if you're worried about the actual bills, Dr. Smith has told me time and again how much he appreciated you working with the geriatrics. So I have no doubt that he'd be charging you anything."

Santiago stared at her for a full ten seconds before breathing out an "…okay."

"Why don't you just go home now? There's no work to be done today and you've already put in ten month's worth of hours."

"No, I'll wait for Dr. Smith. If that's all right."

Nicole chuckled. "All right." Then after a minute, she added, "You're wrong, you know. I think you'd do a great job at taking care of animals. And people, too."

**xxx**

**From 46-75 degrees**

When Santiago showed up at the hospital on a Saturday, Nicole sharply reprimanded him and told him to go and enjoy his youth. (Besides, most families visit the patients on weekends so there was really no need for him to be there.)

And that was why he was at the public library.

He had found out earlier this year that the public library was one of the safest places he could hide in, considering that it was almost always deserted. Even better, his football teammates didn't even know what a library was, or that it even existed. So, yeah, the library was his sanctuary, since after all he couldn't hide out at home or at the hospital until graduation. Besides the fact that the place was filled with books, which have also become his fall-back.

After he had made his rounds through the shelves and picked out the books that caught his fancy, he went to his spot near the back of the library in between shelves of obscure scientific journals. Even though he was pretty sure no one he knew would find him in the library, he would never risk the off-chance that a nerd or two catching him.

He sat himself on the floor, resting his back against one of the shelves, and stretched out his legs.

He was halfway through a poetry book by Lorca when he heard footsteps stop a few feet from him. He readied himself for a reprimand from the librarian but didn't take his eyes off the page he was on.

"Oh, it's you!"

Santiago's head snapped up at the sound of the voice and turned around so quickly that he heard—then felt—his cervical vertebrae crack. He winced as his hand shot up to rub the back of his neck.

A subdued yet still distinctively bubbly laugh reached Santiago's ears. "Careful; it's just me."

When Santiago finally focused his eyes on the intruder, he saw that of course it was _her_. The girl with the eyes that had put the bluest skies to shame. She was wearing that same pleased smile—which at the same time seemed brighter and more delighted than the last time—on her face. Santiago briefly wondered if anybody had ever looked at him that way, excluding his Mami and his abuela. But even they didn't look at him like they have been looking for him their entire lives and had just found him.

He blinked.

The girl made his way towards him. "I get lost among these shelves sometimes; I think they should definitely make a map of this place." Santiago still couldn't find his voice so he just respectfully stared. The girl didn't seem to mind. "Is it all right if I join you?"

Santiago nodded, not taking his eyes off her.

The girl's smile widened as she took her place on the shelf opposite Santiago. She carefully laid her stack of books beside her. When she looked up, she noticed him still staring at her. "Is there something on my face?"

That seemed to have brought Santiago's voice back. Almost. "No," he breathed out. And he hated how he sounded like he just recovered from an asthma attack.

"I don't think we've been introduced to each other yet," said the girl. "I'm Brittany." She extended her hand towards him.

"Santiago." He gave himself a mental high-five when his normal voice returned. He was about to take her proffered hand but stopped a few centimeters short, when he became aware that his palm had gone sweaty. Brittany didn't seem to notice the hesitation since she just closed the distance herself and squeezed his hand. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he found himself blushing, even as the fluttering in his stomach grew.

When she let go of his hand, he immediately clenched it to his side. His eyes wandered around for something to start a conversation with, forgetting for a moment that this was a library and they were supposed to be just reading. His eyes fell on the stack of books the girl brought with her.

"Peter Pan."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I've read it before but I couldn't get enough of it."

Santiago smiled. "I know what you mean." His eyes studied the rest of the pile. "You like reading children's books," now her question in the hallway made perfect sense, "and… books on endangered species?"

Brittany nodded her head, almost shyly. "They're… research material." She was about to continue but changed her mind at the last minute. She looked over the books strewn on his side. "And you like reading books… by foreign authors?"

Santiago glanced at his choices and suddenly felt self-conscious. It wasn't like he was ashamed to be caught reading Lorca, Verlaine and Neruda, but oh God now he looked pretentious or like a nerd, or maybe a pretentious nerd. He furrowed his brows and shifted uncomfortably.

"I didn't think I'd find somebody from school here," he mumbled, as if to defend himself.

"Well, technically, you didn't find anybody; you were found. By me." Brittany grinned cheekily. Santiago rolled his eyes even as he was fighting back a smile. "But I get what you mean. Nobody ever comes here, and it's like an actuary or something."

"Sanctuary?"

Brittany smiled. "Yeah, that. I confuse my words sometimes, which I guess is part of the reason why people assume that I don't read." Santiago's frown deepened at this. When Brittany noticed his expression, she touched his leg and shook her head. "It's all right, I'm used to it."

Santiago felt a jolt of electricity run through his body at the contact. He thought it a miracle that he was able to say something in response. "People tend to assume a lot of things. They're often wrong, you know."

Brittany locked her eyes to his. "I know."

Santiago couldn't help but feel that those blue eyes were looking deep into his soul. His insides started tingling and when he couldn't take the intensity of her gaze anymore, he ducked his head. To cover up his embarrassment, Santiago grabbed Lorca's poetry book and raised it to his face. He heard Brittany chuckle but she didn't say anything else.

For the next hour, the only sound that was heard was the occasional rustle of pages turning.

When Santiago finally put down the book, he found Brittany looking at him, her copy of Peter Pan closed on her lap and the stack of books beside her untouched. When she realized that she had been caught, her cheeks and the tips of her ears turned pink.

Santiago couldn't help but think that her face right now was probably the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

(And that was saying something, considering the hours he had spent with children at the hospital.)

He didn't realize that he was smiling until Brittany's eyes lit up and she whispered, "You have pretty dimples."

"You're beautiful." Santiago's eyes widened. Not because he was able to say something nice sober, but because of the way he said it, breathless and soft, altogether too sincere. He had never heard anyone his age say things this way to other people; in fact, he had only ever heard this manner of speaking from his Mami to his father (and vice versa), which totally didn't make sense right now because he just met this girl and—

Brittany turned an even deeper shade of pink. "Thank you."

And because he had been brought up to respond politely to expressions of gratitude (no matter how much he thought it was undeserved), he replied, "You're welcome" before he felt his face heat up at his lack of game.

A smile slowly appeared on Brittany's face and she quirked her brow. And there it was again, that expression she wore when he first saw her in the hallway and today—pleased and what Santiago could only describe as pure delight. He frowned as he puzzled over what it was that gave her this expression.

After a while, Brittany broke the silence. "Quinn told me you took care of the blue jay."

Santiago nodded, still not trusting himself to speak.

"How is she?"

Now this type of conversation Santiago could handle. "She's doing fine. A doctor's seen her and said that her wing will mend in less than a month's time."

"Where is she now?"

"I… brought her home. Mami—I mean, my mother's home all day anyway so she looks after the bird as well." Santiago paused. "But if you want to take her home, I can get her and give her back to you."

Brittany shook her head. "My family and I are kind of a crazy bunch so I doubt she'll get the rest she needs. It's why I had to keep her in my locker; I didn't know where else she could be safe." Somehow the idea that she only found safety in her locker—her _locker_, of all places, and more importantly, considering the situation had involved a life, not even in another person, like a Cheerio teammate or even the teachers—made Santiago frown again.

His rumination was broken by a soft giggle. "You tend to frown a lot."

"A lot of things are frown-worthy."

"Including me?"

Santiago paused to study her expression but it didn't show anything except an honest curiosity, in turn making him answer simply and honestly. "No, not you."

"That's good to hear."

A faint buzzing sound suddenly echoed around them. Santiago looked around for the source of the noise until he saw Brittany take her vibrating phone out of her pocket. She tapped the keypad for a few seconds, before putting the phone back down. "I have to go now, my sister's soccer tournament is about to start." She stood up but her eyes went to her stack of books, and a tiny frown crinkled her brows.

"You can just leave it there. They're just gonna put it back in their proper shelves anyway."

"Who's they?"

Santiago paused. He knew there were people who assisted the librarian and helped maintain the place but he didn't exactly know what they were called so he said, "The librarian's little helpers."

"The library elves? You've seen them?" Blue eyes went wide. "Is Kreacher here?"

That threw Santiago off. He looked at her in confusion, but then he saw the playful glint in her eyes and before he could stop himself, he let out a small laugh. "Yeah, he's been complaining a lot while he works. Lazy Muggles, can't even put books back, and he misses the Blacks."

"Except Sirius."

"Except Sirius," Santiago repeated solemnly.

Brittany grinned but then seemed to have remembered something. She bit her lip. "So I do have to return these first." She was about to bend over to gather the books when Santiago spoke up.

"No, I'll return them. The shelf for the poetry books is right next to the children's books anyway. And I've been meaning to read up on owls, which I'm pretty sure I'll find in the same shelf as those other books you have there."

Brittany looked at him uncertainly. "You sure?"

Santiago nodded.

She beamed. "All right then. I'll see you around."

As she started to walk away, Santiago couldn't help but notice that she moved with such an easy grace, almost like she was water personified. When she was finally out of sight, he turned his attention to her stack of books, staring at it for a full minute before crawling over to her spot and grabbing the one in the middle. For the next hour, his own stack lay forgotten across him as he burned through hers.

Before going home, he carefully returned the books to their shelves.

(The shelves for children's books and for poetry were on the opposite ends of the library.)

**xxx**

**From 76-90 degrees**

Santiago would be lying (not that he wasn't familiar with the concept) if he didn't say that for a few moments he was worried that meeting somebody from school in one of his secret hiding places could put a crack in his reputation as a badass. But then he remembered that it wasn't just anybody; it was Brittany with the ingenuous blue eyes and bright smile who had seen him.

Brittany, who looked at him like she could read the depths of his soul and for some unfathomable reason found something there that she liked.

(Brittany, who made him think in that hour at the library, that he could be someone better than who he had been in his life so far.)

He thought that he might be just a little bit in love.

Which was stupid, of course. What did he even know about falling in love? And who ever fell in love in high school anyway, when interactions between two individuals ranged from pure adulterated hatred to teenage-hormones-charged sex? Besides, even if falling in love was possible in high school, falling in love with somebody one just met twice (with interactions lasting a grand total of a little more than an hour, most of which was spent in silence) was absolutely impossible, and only existed in movies and pop songs and cheesy romance novels (not that he had ever read one, of course).

(But then again, what did he know about falling in love?)

Santiago pushed this thought out of his mind and tried to channel his high school badass persona as he pulled over at the parking lot. But as he stepped out of his car, he couldn't help that fluttery feeling of excitement in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Brittany today.

Suddenly coming to school didn't seem like a chore anymore.

He adjusted the straps of his backpack before slinging it over his left shoulder and walked towards the entrance of the school.

It didn't take him long to spot her because, _hello_, how many beautiful blonde girls with startlingly blue eyes and a graceful way of moving that made everyone around her look like colts just learning how to walk were there in Lima?

She was by her locker, taking out books and notes. This time, the other blonde wasn't there, to which Santiago was grateful for, but just as he took a step towards her direction, he was stopped by a thought.

How on earth was he supposed to approach her? Santiago didn't think they were now friends just because they spent an hour at the library together, besides the puzzling general notion that guys and girls couldn't be _just friends_ unless their peg was Will and Grace. (And Santiago was pretty sure he wasn't a Will—don't ask how he even knew the show.) And they definitely didn't belong to that _other_ type of boy-girl relationship prevalent in the school (not that the thought had fleetly crossed his mind.)

Besides, he didn't want to approach Brittany like that, like getting to know her was just a means to an end. Because it was very obvious to Santiago that Brittany was different and getting to know her and the thoughts inside her head was something he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life doing.

(Wait, hold up—did he just seriously think something along the lines of 'the rest of his life'? Whoa there! Slow down, boy, slow down. Sixteen's too young to know what one wanted beyond high school, heck even beyond the current day.)

He was too busy standing there and fretting (and probably looking like an idiot), he didn't notice that Brittany had spotted him and was now heading towards him.

"Hey there! Whatcha thinkin'?" she bounced the last step, grinning.

Santiago nearly jumped at finding her just in front of him. "W-What?"

"You were all frowny again, which I now know indicates that you're thinking hard about something."

"U-Uh, just thinking about… life in general?" Oh dear God, he sounded like a lame-ass carbon copy of a pretentious quarter-life crisis survivor undergoing his third bout of existentialist angst. Or something.

Brittany nodded in understanding. "I get that, too, sometimes. Especially when I'm in the shower, or when Lord Tubbington and I play poker.

"Lord Tubbington?"

"Yeah, he's my cat, though he's also doubling as a spy for the Feline Intelligence Agency _and_ at the same time actively participating in drug-dealing." Then she stepped closer, and covered her mouth as she whispered in his ear, "But that's just between you and me."

And Santiago would never be able to understand how this made him feel like he had found the means to eradicate typhoid, malaria, and influenza in the known world. He felt his entire body buzzing.

He just stood there, staring, as Brittany stepped back and smiled at him. "So what did you find out about owls?" He blinked in confusion. "You said that you've been wanting to read up on owls, back at the library."

Oh, right. He tried to remember something but all he came up with was the same reason he had mentioned it in the library in the first place. "Owls are the only birds that can see the color blue," he blurted out.

Brittany raised her brows and her smile widened. "Really? That's, like, so cool!"

Thankfully, at that moment, the school bell rang. (Santiago mentally renewed his faith in God.)

"What's your first subject?" she asked.

"English."

"Awesome. I have History, so we're headed in the same direction. Do you want to walk together?"

Santiago swallowed. "Sure."

God seemed to have taken pity on his poor soul since Brittany didn't ask him any more questions, just contentedly humming the chorus to Britney Spears' 'Sometimes.' Santiago tried not to read too much into that, even though he has this sneaking suspicion that she was humming that song not to, but _for_ him.

(This girl seemed to know everything.)

They got to his classroom first thus effectively making it look like she was dropping him off—his insides tingled. The tingles increased a hundredfold when she winked and said, "I'll see you around."

For the first time since he entered McKinley High, he didn't pay attention to what their English teacher was saying, even when he was discussing the difference between the Shakespearean and Petrarchan sonnets. Because Santiago was too busy wondering why he seemed to be stripped away of all his ammunition when he was with Brittany. Like, he had already gotten the memo that his game lessened when he was sober, but with Brittany, it seemed like all of his game disappeared, leaving him a gawping idiot.

(But wasn't that his true self?)

Santiago covered his face and groaned.

All throughout that day, Santiago saw Brittany everywhere, though sometimes she was with her Cheerio teammates so she just smiled and waved at him—which he really didn't mind since he doubted that he could last an entire day just with her without revealing what a sham his entire badass image was. He still wasn't sure if that would be a bad thing.

But he did discover that they shared some classes together, three, in fact. He knitted his brows in confusion. "How did I not see you before?"

Brittany just cocked her brow and smirked, "You weren't looking."

Santiago felt his mouth go dry, for a number of reasons. Well, three. One, did she just imply that she had noticed his existence even before the party? Two, wow, he must have done such an incredible job blocking out his surroundings to have not seen her before, which in turn made him wonder of all the other things he must have missed. And three, how on earth could she switch from adorable to sexy in a blink of an eye?

This girl was definitely full of surprises.

(He was becoming increasingly sure of his thought earlier that day, that he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life just getting to know her.)

**xxx**

**From 91-125 degrees**

Even though they now spend more and more time together during the weekdays, Brittany and Santiago still met up on Saturdays at the library. Of course, they went to the library for their own reasons: Brittany for her research (which Santiago still had to find out what for) and Santiago to read up and unwind. That they got to see each other there was just a bonus.

(Yeah, right. With the way Santiago would pause every two minutes of reading to look up and see if Brittany has arrived _definitely_ proved that.)

It has become a routine and an unspoken agreement to be at the library by nine in the morning. They would pick out their respective reading materials and settle on their spot in between shelves of scientific journals. They would spend an hour reading and then afterwards they would just talk and ask questions about each other or about what they had been reading, while nibbling on the brownies that Santiago brought with him (even if it was against the rules to eat in the library—well, it wasn't like they haven't broken one of them before).

(Santiago was pleased to find out that he was slightly more coherent within the confines of the library than at school.)

"Favorite word?"

"Paradoxical," Santiago answered promptly.

Brittany crinkled her brows cutely. "Is that a medicine?"

Santiago shook his head, smiling. "No, it's just a fancy way of saying contradictory."

Brittany nodded. "You like fancy words, huh?"

"Makes everything less boring. How about you, favorite word?"

"Kerfuffle."

Now it was Santiago's turn to crinkle his brows (though he knew there was no way it could be cute when he did it). "What does that mean?"

"A commotion." Brittany grinned broadly. "Doesn't it sound cuter though? Like hearing it I imagine children at the playground or pillow fights or the cotton-candy machine."

"Yeah, I can totally imagine it now, the only thing that keeps those kids at the hospital from making a kerfuffle is the fact that they're all sick or recovering."

Brittany's face lit up. "You work with children at the hospital?"

Santiago blushed. Oh crap, that just slipped out. Talking to Brittany always had that effect on him, making him forget what he had been hiding. "Uh, yeah. And old people, too."

"That's really great! So I take it you're awesome with children and old people?"

"Well God seemed to have seen it fit to reassure me that I am capable of decent human interaction," Santiago mumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"I… I sort of suck at dealing with people my age, so…"

"That's not true. You're great with me."

"Well, except you, of course. You're different." If there was any way for Santiago to turn an even darker shade of red, he guessed it would be happening, like, right now. He grabbed the Rilke poetry book he had been reading an hour ago. He flipped it open on his lap and ducked his head.

"I am?"

Santiago looked up at the sound of uncertainty and maybe even self-consciousness in her voice. Brittany was looking at him and the expression of delight on her face had dimmed. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No! Of course not!" said Santiago a little too loudly. He immediately shut his mouth and listened for the librarian. When he didn't hear footsteps, he looked at Brittany again, who was waiting for him to continue. He spoke again, this time in a more modulated voice, "I think being different is okay. More than okay actually, especially if it's your kind of different."

The corners of Brittany's mouth lifted. "Thank you… it's just that people has been telling me to try to fit in more, and not say weird things and stuff…"

"Well those people probably love living their own boring lives with the intent to bring down everybody else with them. Don't let them get you. You're way better than them."

(Santiago added to himself, 'Way better than me.')

As if reading his mind, Brittany reached over to grab Santiago's hands, and squeezed them. "You are, too, you know."

Santiago let out a small hollow laugh. "That's not true."

Brittany shook her head. "Everybody thinks you're a bad person but you're not." She squeezed his hands again. "You're really, really not."

Santiago looked at her disbelievingly, even as he felt something twist in his heart. He remembered the words of the other blonde, Quinn, that day at the lockers, about Brittany's assessment of people. He whispered, almost as if he was afraid of the answer, "How can you even be sure of that?"

"I just know so," Brittany shrugged. "It's like my superpower or something."

Santiago laughed. "You really are all sorts of wonderful, aren't you?"

Brittany's cheeks pinked. "Only you would say that."

"Just like only you would say I'm not a bad person."

"Believe me and I'll believe you."

Brittany's blue eyes were looking at him with such intensity that Santiago felt his breath catch.

"Okay," he finally breathed out. "Okay."

A warm, happy look appeared in her eyes. She wiggled the fingers on her right hand, which was still tangled up with Santiago's on his lap, until her little finger found his. "Pinkie-swear it."

She twined her finger with his and raised it between them. "Repeat after me: 'I do solemnly pinkie-swear…'"

Santiago felt his heart suddenly grow a few sizes bigger. "I do solemnly pinkie-swear…"

"'…to believe in Brittany S. Pierce…'"

"…to believe in Brittany S. Pierce…"

"'…when she says I am a good person…'"

"…when she says I am a good person…"

"'…and a hot one, too.'"

"…and a—what?!"

Brittany grinned and shrugged her shoulders. "S'true though."

Santiago rolled his eyes to cover the fact that the temperature on his face just probably reached a million degrees Fahrenheit. "My turn. Repeat after me: 'I do solemnly pinkie-swear…'"

"I do solemnly pinkie-swear…"

"'…to believe in Santiago Lopez…'"

"…to believe in Santiago Lopez…"

"'…when he says I am a genius…'"

"…when he says I am a genius…"

"'…and that there's no one like me.'"

"…and that there's no one like me."

They looked at each other with the same huge grin on their faces.

"You didn't say I'm hot," said Brittany with a smirk.

Santiago ducked his head. "It's already a given; no need to state the obvious."

Brittany tugged their still linked fingers until Santiago looked up. He noticed that her eyes flickered between his lips and his own eyes. She took a deep breath before leaning towards him.

What Santiago last saw before his eyelids fluttered close were the freckles on her face and one that sat at the right corner of her mouth. But he soon forgot everything when he felt Brittany's soft lips on his. It was short and chaste but it had left Santiago breathless and his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

(How could one simple kiss have such a great effect, greater than all the other kisses he has had before which were longer, more passionate, and with tongue?)

(It felt like a first kiss, in more ways than one.)

Brittany drew back and was now wearing a giddy smile. "A kiss to seal the deal," she said, raising their linked pinkies.

Santiago just nodded dumbly, having lost his voice.

(To be honest, he didn't mind losing his voice if it meant he'd have moments like this with Brittany.)

(He remembered a fairy tale having this kind of bargain, which he had scoffed at when he first read it, thinking how foolish it was to give up something so precious for some person. But now he sort of understood it, that a person like that could arrive in one's life, someone capable of plucking out heretofore unknown beautiful notes from the strings of one's heart.)

(God, he had definitely been reading too much Rilke.)

**xxx**

**From 126-135 degrees**

When Santiago decided to come to Matt's party, he didn't exactly consider the fact that Brittany would be there as well. Thinking about it now, of course, Brittany would be there. She probably has been at every party he was at—her being a cheerleader and all.

(He wondered if things would have gone in the same way had he not been too caught up in his own drunken acts.)

It was still all kinds of weird for Santiago seeing Brittany outside the confines of the library. Even at school, he couldn't bring himself to be familiar with her in the same way as when they were surrounded by bookshelves. Sure he would say hi and sometimes they walked to class together, but he didn't exactly stick to her side at every available moment. That would be creepy, considering that those who did that were either BFFs (which, again, seemed to be impossible between guys and girls) or couples (which, of course, they definitely were not.)

Even though they had shared a kiss, Santiago knew that it didn't mean that they were now dating. Well to be honest, he still wasn't sure what they were exactly—'friends' didn't seem to adequately describe their bond, and it definitely wasn't 'boyfriend-girlfriend' either. But he didn't let this bother him; he never really liked labels anyway. As long as he could get to spend time with Brittany, he was all good. Besides, the kiss didn't scream 'romantic love' at all; it was in the same category as the pinkie-swearing and reading together in the library and random trivia about oneself and walking to class together—i.e. the aforementioned nameless bond between him and Brittany.

The downside to this, of course, was that he never knew how to comport himself with her when there were other people around. Other people's looks and talks still made his insides squirm so he resorted to his default setting, i.e. be aloof.

(At first he was afraid that his feigned indifference in the hallways would retract the progress of his and Brittany's nameless relationship, but Brittany seemed to not mind at all.)

(He really hoped that she didn't mind at all.)

But anyway.

Within a minute of arriving at Matt's place, Santiago spotted Brittany owning the dance floor. He felt his eyes widen and his jaw dropping at the sight of her whipping her head to the sides, while undulating her body to the beat of the music. She had told him that she took dance lessons but he didn't exactly anticipate this sight of a dance floor goddess with moves that made everybody else look so bad they should just all sit down.

Everybody except that tall dark-haired guy who was dancing with her.

Mike Chang.

Santiago frowned. He never suspected that Mike could dance well; all that Santiago ever thought of him was that Mike seemed too thin to be on the football team (even if he had Jesus' abs—abs wouldn't save him from a tackle). But apparently he could be as boneless as a jellyfish and could match Brittany's every move. In fact, he was just behind her, his hands on her waist and their hips swaying together from side to side.

It made Santiago's blood boil.

He looked around him for a drink and spotted a full red solo cup in the hands of some random girl and without preamble he took it from her (ignoring her indignant 'Hey!') and downed the contents in five seconds flat. He winced as the alcohol burned downed his throat and warmed his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment as he let it go to his head.

He opened his eyes when he felt his head go a little light and he purposely made his way to the dance floor.

Brittany and Mike were still dancing, completely oblivious to the people around them and Santiago briefly wondered if all dancers were like that. But this thought was quickly dismissed when he was right behind Mike. He then grabbed Mike by the shoulder and roughly pulled him away. Mike nearly stumbled back but caught himself with his swift reflexes, making Santiago curse inside his head. He glared at the baffled look in Mike's face, and Mike gratefully took the hint and moved away with a thin-lipped smile and a shake of his head.

Santiago turned his attention to Brittany, who apparently felt the sudden absence of the warm body dancing behind her since she was now looking at him, her head cocked to the side.

She blinked at him before smiling slowly.

(Santiago thought it may be the sexiest smile he had ever seen.)

She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her until her mouth was on his ear.

"Dance with me," she breathed out.

Santiago's hands automatically found their way to her hips, and he soon found himself moving with the rhythm of her body. (The music barely registered in his mind—he didn't think he was intoxicated by the alcohol, but he was pretty sure he was getting there with the scent and the movement of the girl in front of him.)

Brittany kept her eyes fixed on his, and Santiago was a little surprised that they weren't the bright blue that he had grown accustomed to. Her eyes were darker, and it took Santiago's dazed mind a few moments before realizing what it meant.

All too clearly now he was aware of the feeling of Brittany's body where they touched—her hips under his hands, her arms on his neck, and her front occasionally pressing against his. Electricity seemed to be flowing from her since Santiago felt tingles everywhere they touched. And her scent—God! sweat mingled with alcohol and red vanilla and that unique smell that he had only been faintly aware of until this very moment—the one that came from her and her alone—it made Santiago dizzy. He could feel heat pooling down at the pit of his stomach, making him tighten his grip on her hips and pulling her close until she was completely pressed against him.

Which may have been a wrong move on his part since he could now distinctly feel her breasts against his chest, and her hot breath on his neck. He could feel the lower part of him slowly rocking against her.

Shit.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to will away the feeling (which, of course, was pretty futile considering that he was still glued to Brittany). Then with a supreme effort, he pulled away from her, panting heavily.

Brittany looked at him with those maddening dark eyes, her brows meeting together in a frown.

Santiago swallowed as he tried to steady his breathing. "I need a drink." Then after a beat, he asked, "You want one, too?"

A smirk found its way on Brittany's lips. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated dumbly before making his way through the crowd. He went straight to the kitchen, which was a little crowded. He grabbed two solo cups that some dude was preparing and who was about to protest but upon seeing Santiago, wisely shut his mouth and scuttled away. He glared at the rest of the people gathered in the kitchen until they all left, leaving him alone there. He downed half of the contents of one cup before he felt a hand on his hip and the warmth of a body against his back.

"Is that mine?"

Santiago turned around abruptly, spilling his drink down his front. He cursed softly before looking up and seeing Brittany with a contrite expression on her face.

"It's all right," Santiago said before she started apologizing. Though he didn't like the feeling of his alcohol-sodden shirt sticking down his front, he was also kind of grateful that this happened. His mind had instantly cleared and he now had a good excuse to leave.

He offered the other cup to Brittany. "Here," he said with a smile, "this is yours."

"What about your shirt? We should go to the bathroom and—"

"No no, it's really all right," Santiago cut in. Just the mere thought of him and Brittany alone anywhere made alarm bells ring in his head. "I'll just go home, I haven't been feeling well anyway."

Brittany frowned and she placed her hand on his forehead. "You're sick?"

Santiago flushed, which may well be to his advantage at that moment, since Brittany said, "Your forehead's kind of hot."

Santiago didn't say anything but he took her hand that was on his forehead and put it down. He squeezed her hand and said, "Yeah, I have a slight fever. I'll just go home." At that moment, he was also tempted to ask if she wanted a ride home but he immediately quashed the thought for two reasons: one, she seemed to enjoy the party; and two, again, confined spaces with just the two of them.

He breathed out a sigh. "You'll be okay, right?"

Brittany rolled her eyes. "I have been to parties before, you know." Then she added with a smirk, "Even before you took notice of me."

Santiago felt his face heat up again and he coughed to cover his embarrassment. "R-Right. Okay. Right." Then another thought popped inside his head, one that made his insides twist uncomfortably. Party. They were in a party. SMR. Which meant that in all likelihood, Brittany would end up making out or having sex with somebody else.

"Do you need a ride home?" he blurted out.

Brittany's brows shot up in surprise. "But you're sick, right? You should just go home. I'll find a ride later."

"No, it's fine. I can give you a ride home—if you're not staying, that is." Santiago felt his mouth go dry.

Brittany pursed her lips in thought. Then she studied Santiago's face, making him pray that he wasn't that obvious. After a few moments, she said with a bright smile, "Okay, I'll take you up on that. That way I can make sure you don't faint or something and get into an accident… though that would only be until we get to my place so that would be kinda futile, wouldn't it?" She frowned.

Santiago couldn't help but smile at that. "No, it wouldn't. My mother told me before that good company helps in getting better—as long as the sickness isn't infectious. And I'm pretty sure what I have isn't infectious, so." He shrugged his shoulders. "Let's go?"

"I guess I believe you. You seem better already." Brittany cocked an eyebrow.

"Well I have the best company here."

Brittany laughed. "I wonder if you just want to have your wicked way with me."

Santiago blushed. "God no!"

That made Brittany pause. "You mean you don't want to?"

Well, shit.

Santiago furrowed his brows as he racked his brain for an answer that wouldn't make him seem like a douchebag or a previously non-practicing celibate who had now seen the light or make Brittany feel that he didn't want her like that (because tonight pretty much proved that he kinda sorta definitely want her like that—but of course acting on it would change things between them and Santiago wasn't keen on the idea. Of changing. Not the other one. 'Cause he was pretty keen on that one. But yeah.)

When he didn't say anything for a few minutes and had kept his head down, Brittany asked worriedly, "Are you all right? Are you feeling sick again?"

Santiago faked a cough. "Yeah, I'm feeling faint again. You ready to go?"

"Yeah, sure. Let's go."

When Brittany slid into the passenger seat, Santiago became acutely aware of his deceit and his selfishness, making his heart twist in his chest. He had no claim on Brittany and he really shouldn't be dragging her away from the party, not when she seemed to have been enjoying herself. He glanced at her before fixing his eyes on the steering wheel.

"Actually I feel better now. You don't have to accompany me anymore."

Brittany pouted. "You don't want to be with me?"

"Of course I want to be with you," he said hastily. "It's just that if you want to stay at the party, it's cool."

Brittany stared at him for a moment before shrugging. "I'd rather be with you."

Santiago felt his heart stop. He nodded, almost shyly, before starting the engine.

They didn't talk much on the way to Brittany's house, but neither seemed to mind. The companionable silence that existed between them was something that Santiago had always attributed to the library's ambience, but now it was pretty obvious that it came from them, just them. It made Santiago wonder if it was possible to be as comfortable with Brittany at school as in the library. But that would mean breaching the carefully segregated order of Santiago's life, and he couldn't do that. He wasn't sure now why he couldn't. But he had been keeping his private life and public persona so carefully apart for so long that the prospect of changing that was… terrifying.

Thinking about it now, Brittany was an aberration in his life.

It would have been different if she had belonged only to one sphere, preferably the public sphere, but she didn't. She came to his private sphere unexpectedly, even when the moment, that first meeting at the library, was so artless and even mundane. Had she spread the news around that he spent his time doing such boring things like reading and baking, he would have cut her off and maybe find a roundabout way of exacting vengeance and he definitely wouldn't be worrying about breaches. But she was _Brittany_. There was definitely no one like her. She kept his secrets safe with her, and in turn she shared her secrets with him. She seemed to understand his need for the schism in his life, and didn't pry.

He supposed that it was because she was doing the same. Though maybe not as willingly as Santiago did.

But he would think about all these some other time. He wouldn't change things; everything was fine the way they were.

(For now.)

Santiago was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice that they were already at their destination until Brittany said, "There, that's my house over there, with the blue mailbox."

Santiago squinted. "Is that a bee painted on the mailbox?"

"Mm-hmm. To keep our mails safe. It's a Letter Bee."

Santiago grinned. "That sounds amazing. Maybe we should get one for our mailbox, too." The moment he said it, Santiago realized how his words could be interpreted differently. Of course, he was referring to the Lopez mailbox but the pronouns were so ambiguous, they could have also referred to him and the present company, implying a future with joint ownership of a mailbox.

He felt his face heat up.

"Yeah," said Brittany simply, as Santiago put the car on park.

Wow, her response was as ambiguous as his statement.

(He really should stop thinking too much.)

Brittany unbuckled the seatbelt before turning to Santiago. She was wearing that mysterious cat-smile that never failed to make Santiago's insides flutter. "So."

Santiago smiled back innocently. "So?"

"You want to come up?"

(Alarm bells ringing.)

Santiago was so caught up at the way the light glinted on Brittany's eyes and the way her smile seemed so predatory and so seductive that a 'Yes' was on the tip of his tongue. But the recent thought of breaches caught him at the last millisecond, making him pause before shaking his head. "No, I gotta get home."

Brittany's face fell but she quickly smiled again, this time of understanding. "All right." She waited for a moment longer, looking at his face intently, for what, Santiago wasn't sure. She seemed not to have found it since her smile waned. Then before Santiago could register what was happening, she leaned over the console to press a soft kiss on his lips.

"Good night, Santiago," she said before hopping out of the car. When she was at the door, she turned back and gave him a giant wave. Still dazed, he raised his hand to wave back, but only managed to move it weakly to the side. Brittany seemed not to mind since she grinned before opening the door and disappearing into the house.

Santiago touched his lips with the tips of his fingers.

(Breaches didn't seem that terrifying all of a sudden.)

**xxx**

**From 136-150 degrees**

When Brittany came in that Saturday morning, Santiago noted that her eyes were shining brightly underneath her fuzzy animal hat. (God, he adored those hats on her.) He was just about to hit the shelves but paused once he saw her making a beeline towards him.

In lieu of greeting, she grabbed his hands and said, "Guess what!"

"What!" he asked, matching her enthusiasm in a modulated voice.

"I'm pregnant!"

"What?!" The head librarian shot him a nasty glare.

Brittany grinned. "Just kidding. Let's go to our spot and I'll tell you."

When they were settled safely in between the shelves of the obscure journals, Brittany spoke up. "I've finally finished outlining my story."

Santiago crinkled his brows. "What story?"

"Remember how I've been researching stuff and stuff?" Santiago nodded. "Well, it's because I've been wanting to write a children's story, but not just any children's story—it's going about the endangered animals, to raise awareness starting from the young ones 'cause as Whitney Houston said, 'I believe the children are our future,' and besides, it's a good way to introduce themselves to the wonders of the world."

Santiago grinned. "That sounds really great, Brittany!"

"Yeah, well," Brittany smiled bashfully. "It's always been my dream to write a story like that." She was about to say more but stopped herself.

Santiago tapped her knee. "Why has it been your dream?"

Brittany locked her eyes to his and studied his face for a moment. Then a slow smile appeared on her face. "Because… when you think about it, these two things are the ones easily dismissed: children's stories and endangered species. Children's stories are thought of to be not really worthy of attention, because they're not—" she raised the pointer and middle finger of both her hands, and made the floppy rabbit-ears gesture "serious, but what I think is that writing these stories are actually the most difficult. Think of the responsibility that a children's story-writer is burdened with, of shaping the minds of the future, and the pressure. Children are so smart, and they see and understand a lot of things, much more than grown-ups do, and one has to be really good to capture their attention and to keep it.

"And the endangered animals, people rarely think about them anymore. Certain species of fish and lizards are dying out and nobody outside the circle of scientists and true-blue animal-lovers really bother learning about them and finding ways to save them. Don't you think it would be wonderful if we can make a children's story about these animals? It's like safeguarding the future a billion times over!"

Santiago couldn't help what he supposed was an adoring expression on his face. He had always known that Brittany was all sorts of wonderful but somehow she still managed to surprise him with something even more amazing about herself every single time.

(She definitely was the type of person he had to spend an entire lifetime getting to know.)

He didn't realize that he had been staring at her until she pressed a finger in between his brows.

"Hey, I'm still here, you know. It's rude to drift off in front of another person, unless they're saying mean things because I do that, too, switching them off." Brittany frowned.

Santiago shook his head and smiled widely. "I'm sorry, I just, I'm just blown away once again with your awesomeness."

"You really think that?"

"Of course I do. I think what you said makes perfect sense, and I've been reading enough children's stories for the kids at the ward to know that there is a craft, a difficult one too, in writing them. And I think making one about endangered animals is a fantastic idea, and seriously, everything you said makes perfect sense so I'm not going to repeat it and sound like even more an idiot than I already do right now." Then because he couldn't help it. "I was right, you are a genius."

Pink flooded Brittany's cheeks and she ducked her head. "Yeah, so here's the thing… I need somebody to take a look at my script and I was wondering if maybe you would be open to checking it out?"

"Of course!"

"It's written in crayons though."

"Even better," said Santiago, grinning. "That way I wouldn't be bored to death with the uniformity of the letters."

"Thank you. I'd ask Wes Brody but I don't think he's over me yet."

Santiago's face fell in an instant as something hot flared in his belly. "Wes Brody?"

"Yeah, he's some guy I dated a while ago, met him through my sister. Really cute and plays soccer with her." Brittany looked at him straight in the eye. "He's seven."

Santiago stared at her as his brain processed this bit of information. But when he saw her smirking, he realized he's been had. He rolled his eyes and pretended to scoff. "So I'm your second choice?"

Brittany laughed. "No, I was just messing with ya. You're the first one I thought of, actually." Then she added a little more softly, "The only one."

A warm fuzzy feeling blossomed in Santiago's chest and he felt his face heat up. He didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything and just let the silence envelope them.

After a while, Brittany looked at him curiously. "So what's your dream?"

Santiago was taken aback. "M-My dream?"

Brittany nodded, smiling at him encouragingly.

"I honestly don't…" He trailed off as the word 'dream' triggered the release of the thoughts and memories and feelings he has had in relation to that term. He remembered his father who had dedicated his life to helping other people and the admiration and respect Santiago had for him; he remembered the children and the old people at the hospital who always seemed delighted to see him; he saw Brittany and her smiles and how she made him feel that he could be somebody better than he currently was. Before he knew it, he was saying, "I want to be a pediatrician."

Brittany's whole face lit up. "That's… a children's doctor, right?"

Santiago nodded. He was feeling his entire body go numb even as his insides started tingling and a fluttery sensation reigned in his heart.

"That's really great! Has that always been your dream?"

"I guess I've… always wanted to follow my father's footsteps but… it's only now that I realized what I want to specialize in." Santiago hoped that Brittany wouldn't be read anything into his answer.

No such luck though. "Why now?"

Like hell he could just blurt out, 'Because I want to spend the rest of my life somehow still connected to yours.' So he just swallowed and shrugged his shoulders. Brittany's smile dimmed just a tiny bit but there was understanding in her eyes. She nodded.

After a moment, she grinned. "Well then you better advertise my books in your clinic!"

"There'll be nothing else," Santiago promised solemnly.

"This is so cool. It's, like, a partnership." Then with a wicked gleam in her eyes, Brittany said in a sing-song voice, "We can build this dream together!"

And as if on instinct, Santiago opened his mouth to continue the lyrics but he came to his senses at the last millisecond and shut his mouth again. Brittany rolled her eyes. "We can build this dream together," she repeated, singing.

"Standing strong forever," he mumbled.

She grabbed his hands and swung them as she continued, "Nothing's gonna stop us now!"

Infected by her recklessness, Santiago sang along with her. "And when this world runs out of lovers,

we'll still have each other, nothing's gonna stop us, nothing's gonna stop us now…"

But Brittany had broken off from the lyrics and was looking at him intently, "Ooh, all that I need is you, you're all that I ever need, and all that I wanna do is hold you forever, and ever and ever…"

Santiago's eyes widened but before he could think too much of this, she dropped his hands and began playing with her air guitar, complete with sounds. She looked so ridiculous, with her eyes squeezed shut and her face contorted like those rock stars when they were playing riffs.

Santiago laughed as she finished off the part. When she was done, she opened her eyes and grinned at him. He felt his breath catch at the sight before him. Brittany's eyes were shining so brightly, like a clear pool of water struck by sunlight, and her cheeks were glowing, her lips parted in a smile even as she was panting softly. She just looked so beautiful and so alive that Santiago found himself leaning forward and pressing a kiss on the freckle he had found before on the corner of her mouth.

Just like before, it was brief and soft and chaste, and he drew back, still inside the bubble where his thoughts and worries didn't exist.

Brittany raised her hand and touched the corner of her mouth. There was surprise in her expression but also delight and a hint of wonder.

"There was one kiss there," he said softly, still in a daze, "perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner."

Brittany's eyes widened as she understood the reference. She smiled, "Is it gone?"

Santiago shook his head. "No… I don't think it's mine to take."

"It's mine to give." Brittany shuffled closer to him. "And I'm giving it to you."

**xxx**

**From 151-170 degrees**

"So. I've noticed you've been hanging around Brittany Pierce and making goo-goo eyes at her. Are you two, like, together now or something?"

Santiago paused before closing his locker door. "We're friends."

Though they have kissed thrice and made out once, Santiago still didn't think their relationship has changed much. (No small thanks to the fact that he absolutely had no idea how to interact with another person besides the usual hostile manner, platonic manner and purely sexual manner—heck he was pretty sure he wouldn't know a date if he was in one.) Even though being with Brittany has blurred boundaries—like between his public and private persona, and their bond that defied definition—he thought that if forced to categorize their relationship, it fit well under 'friends.' Add to the fact that in school, they weren't exactly draped all over each other and making out like there's no tomorrow—but then again, Santiago thought that he didn't want his and Brittany's relationship to turn into that, a spectacle of teenage hormones.

He liked how they were right now, more than friends, not quite dating (or so he thought).

(Besides, change was scary.)

(But maybe if it was for the better… wait, he shouldn't get ahead of himself.)

Puck laughed. "Oh, is that what we call it now? Well I haven't heard any random bragging they've had sex with her for a while now, so does 'friends' mean 'exclusive banging rights'?"

Santiago could taste the bile at the back of his throat. It wasn't like he didn't know that Brittany slept around; she had said so herself nonchalantly, when they were giving out random trivia about themselves one Saturday at the library. Of course, that information made Santiago's insides clench but hey, hadn't he been sleeping around as well?

Besides, sex isn't dating. So it didn't really matter who one had sex with.

(This ambiguity of the significance of sex was all too familiar with Santiago. Which may or may not be one of the major reasons why he didn't want to taint whatever he and Brittany had with it.)

"No, Puck. Brittany and I are not having sex." He looked at Puck dead in the eye. "It is possible, you know, for a girl and a guy to be just friends, without sex involved."

"Bullshit. What the hell's wrong with you, bro? Lately you've been acting like a wimp. Don't tell me you're pussy-whipped!" Puck quirked his brow. "Well I really couldn't blame you. Brittany really knows how to work it, and the things she can do with her tongue—"

"Say another word, Puckerman, and I will end you," Santiago said in a low, menacing tone, his eyes flashing.

"Oho! Shit, man, you've got it bad for her, don't you? Don't worry, I try my best not touch my boys' girls—unless they come to me first. The Puckasaurus is obliging like that. But just to give you a piece of advice to better your 'friendship,' you should ask her to—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Santiago's fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crunch.

"Say one word like that about Brittany again and I will personally make sure your _Puckasaurus_ goes extinct!" Santiago looked around him. "And that goes to all of you! Send the memo to your non-football buddies as well: if ever I hear anyone say things like that about Brittany, I'm going to go all Lima Heights up your asses! Comprende?"

All the guys in the locker room nodded.

Then with one last glare at all of them, Santiago went out of the locker room. He was still fuming and muttering curses in Spanish by the time he arrived at the parking lot. He was about to open the door to his car when somebody called him.

"Santiago!"

"Jesus!" Santiago clutched his chest, dropping his keys. He turned around and saw the girl they had just been talking about earlier.

"No, it's Brittany," she said seriously. "But I do get called that sometimes, too."

Santiago squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think of those situations that would make anyone call her that. He felt her take his hand, which was still on his chest, lowering it until their hands were clasped between them.

She squeezed his hand. "What's wrong?"

Santiago leaned against his car, still keeping his eyes closed. He took three deep breaths. He opened his eyes and met her blue ones. "I just punched Puck in the face."

Brittany frowned. "Why?"

Santiago swallowed. "Can we… go elsewhere?"

"Okay. Do you have a place in mind?"

"No, you choose."

"All right, there's a park I go to to watch ducks whenever I'm feeling down. It's just by old MacMillan's grocery store."

Santiago gave a small smile. "Okay, just lead the way."

When they had both parked their cars, Brittany stepped out and went to a nearby ice cream parlor. Santiago followed but just as he was about to enter the parlor, Brittany was already at the door, holding two ice cream cones. She handed the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream to him while she kept the rainbow swirl one to herself.

At Santiago's questioning look, she shrugged, "Duck-watching is best with ice cream."

Santiago couldn't help the smile on his face.

When they had finally found a nice spot near the pond, they settled down and ate their ice cream in silence, watching the ducks gliding gracefully in the water, and waddling awkwardly on the shore.

When they had both finished their ice cream, Brittany asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Puck was just being an ass." Santiago's eyes followed the motions of the ducks in the water. He debated with himself whether or not to continue. But just as what had always been the case so far with Brittany, Santiago couldn't help but tell her things. Even those that he would rather not talk about. "He was saying stuff about you."

"What stuff?"

"Sex stuff," he mumbled.

"Oh, I don't mind," said Brittany. "I like sex."

"Yeah, but I just didn't like how they talk about you like that… like that's all that defines you." Santiago frowned. But he was on a roll and he was already feeling too much and when this happened, he either blow it off by working out or he ended up word-vomiting, like right now. "You're sweet and kind and beautiful and charming and smart and all they ever say in connection to your name is sex. I want them to see you, Brittany. I want them to see that you are more than that. I want them to see how wonderful you really are."

All the while he was talking, Santiago kept his eyes on the water.

"Oh, San."

At the shortening of his name, Santiago turned to look at Brittany, who was looking back at him with this expression which he usually saw on people when they were looking at puppies and kittens. He felt warmth spreading through his chest. She smiled at him as she took his left hand with her right, clasping them together.

"Other people don't matter."

Santiago frowned. "But—"

She shook her head, and squeezed his hand. "Just as you want people to know how wonderful I am, I also want them to know what an awesome person you are, how you really help out at the hospital and like reading poems and can totally quote Winnie-the-Pooh." Santiago blushed. "But, does it matter to you if they don't know who you really are?"

"It's different, Brittany. I don't want them to see you as a—mere sex object." Santiago frowned at his awkward phrasing but no way in hell was he going to call her _those_ names.

Brittany seemed to have noticed this too since she chuckled. "I know. And you must know too that I don't want them to see you as a—mere bully."

Santiago gave a small laugh. "You can call me 'asshole,' I wouldn't mind."

"I will if you will," said Brittany, quirking her eyebrow. "But seriously, San, what do other people matter? When we have each other?"

Santiago felt his heart grow two sizes bigger again. "No, I suppose they don't."

Brittany smiled. "They don't." Then after a while, she asked, "I'm just curious: what do you think of sex?"

Santiago glanced at her and saw that same honest curiosity that he first saw at the library. He shrugged his shoulders. "It's… I don't know, it's nice, I guess? I seem to have it conflated with the idea of one-night stands and things that never last. Sometimes it seems like a tool, sometimes a source of bonus points for my reputation. It's… I don't know…" He felt his face heat up. Well, there goes his reputation as a stud.

(But frankly, he found that he really didn't care.)

Brittany was silent for a while. "For me, sex is like dancing. Yes, it's something I really enjoy and I'm absolutely great at," she winked at Santiago, making him blush even harder, "but more than that, it's the bodies having a conversation with each other. It's like a more intimate form of getting to know, and I love finding out things about people that way."

They sat in silence for a while as Santiago mulled this over. "I… never thought of it that way." Then after a beat, he blurted out, "I'm sorry I think I threatened the guys to stay away from you though I honestly just told them to stop talking about you like all you're ever good at is sex but that might have given them the notion that we're together and fine I really really don't like the idea of other people touching you but I really don't have any right to be saying all this and oh _God_ I'm such an idiot, I—"

His rambling was broken off by the sound of Brittany's laugh. "It's all right, San. I just want you. I mean sex with a lot of people is great and all, but sex with the one person who's perfect for me is the greatest."

Santiago's brain has definitely short-circuited. "You want to have sex with me?"

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Well duh. Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? Besides, I can totally imagine you quoting stuff cutely while we're doing it."

"B-But how—why—?"

"Why didn't I jump you every single time we saw each other? Because… you weren't ready." At Santiago's puzzled frown, she continued. "I've been seeing you around, you know? And it's in the way you act like everything's just for show, even your interest in girls, like you weren't even with Puck when he came over to us at practice, or that you always have this sad look during parties, and the fact that you didn't even try to flirt with either me or Quinn, which has, like, never happened before, especially with jocks." ('Well,' Santiago thought, 'that's a nice way of looking at it.') "I mean I'm totally confident that I can change your mind about sex but then again, I really love how we took things slow." Brittany paused. "But I think we've gone slow enough. Don't you think we should, like, speed things up a little? I mean, didn't some English poet say something along the lines of: 'Had we but world enough, and time—"

"'—this coyness, Lady, were no crime,'" Santiago instinctively continued.

"And correct me if I'm wrong but the whole poem's about getting it on, like, ASAP, right? Don't we, like, owe it to one of the great poems of English Literature to heed its injection or something?"

Santiago couldn't help but smile at that. "Injunction." Then he looked at Brittany in wonder.

Brittany just smirked. "What? You're not the only one who sneakily reads the other person's stack."

Santiago laughed. This girl was definitely full of surprises.

He just may be in love.

No, he was definitely in love.

(But what did he know about falling in love?)

(The answer's simple: He was in love with Brittany S. Pierce.)

**xxx**

**From 171-180 degrees**

Apparently, getting to know Brittany between the sheets was just as amazing as getting to know her between the library shelves. She really was that great in sex, but more than that, she was able to prove that it was a way of communication as well. Santiago especially loved learning about the different places in her body that made her heart beat so fast or make her breath hitch. He also loved looking at her face, her eyes especially and how they change their colors, from the bright blue of the sky to the tempestuous darkness of sea at night.

Every time they had sex, it was like a new experience all over again, with new things to learn.

(And to be frank, they have been sort of making up for lost time.)

But besides sex, Santiago also loved the moments after, when he was either watching her sleep, or when they ask questions about each other. Like they could never run out of things to discover about each other.

"So I get that you read books to the children, but what do you do with the old people? Do you play checkers? Crossword?"

Santiago laughed. "No, I'm not patient enough for that." Brittany pouted. He ran his thumb along her lower lip. "I… I sing with them."

Brittany raised her brows, a smile slowly spreading on her lips. "Oh really?"

"Well old folks apparently love music and, I guess thanks to Mami, I know the songs that they happen to be humming or singing so I sing with them."

Brittany chuckled before leaning over to kiss him. They kissed for a few minutes, all gentle and slow, then she pulled back. "Will you sing for me?"

Santiago blushed. He had never really sang to anyone else besides his family and the old people at the hospital. It wasn't like he wasn't confident of his abilities; he knew that he had a pretty good voice. But Brittany was special, so he still felt that flutter of nerves.

But, he could never really say 'No' to her. Like, ever. So he started humming the first song that came to his head.

_It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside;  
__I'm not one of those who can easily hide.  
__I don't have much money, but boy if I did,  
__I'd buy a big house where we both could live._

Brittany just looked at him, listening with rapt attention. He felt even more self-conscious as he went on.

_So excuse me forgetting but these things I do.  
__You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue._

Santiago rolled his eyes. Like he ever forgot what the color of her eyes were. They were the ones that first led him to her, after all.

_Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean,  
__Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen._

Brittany smiled widely, until the corners of her eyes crinkled.

_And you can tell everybody this is your song.  
__It might be quite simple but now that it's done,  
__I hope you don't mind that I put down in words  
__how wonderful life is now you're in the world._

Santiago thought that he had never put any heart into any song he had sung before with at least half as much as he had poured into this one. Because it was absolutely true. Brittany made being in this world worth it.

(He wondered if in other worlds, things would be this perfect. He shook his head, smiling. Even if they weren't, there was no way he was going to let go of Brittany when he found her in each of those worlds. There was no doubt in his mind that wherever he would find himself, Brittany would be there, too.)

(Because they were meant to be.)

He leaned over to seal the deal with a kiss.

* * *

**A/N: Songs mentioned are Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" and Elton John's "Your Song."**


	4. We'll Rewrite All the Wrongs - Pt I

**A/N: First, I'd like to thank everybody who gave this fic a shot, especially since I know genderswap isn't exactly everybody's cup of tea. To be honest, not one chapter of this fic went with what I had originally intended it to be (they were all supposed to be just fluffy works 8k words max). But nevertheless I'm kinda happy with how they've turned out, especially since this fic was my sort-of way of answering why Brittany and Santana are soulmates. **

**Second, the last chapter is going to be split into two, because of the content (but this I'll explain on the next part), and also because I can't write as much anymore due to some problems in RL. That said, I don't know when I'll be able to finish the 2nd part.**

**Third, I really appreciate the reviews and once things have lightened up, I'll reply to them. I've posted some one-shots from the other SSTS-verses in my tumblr (turtleduckie) and if you guys have questions or what-not, you can reach me there.**

* * *

**We'll Rewrite All the Wrongs We Learned  
**_Brittany Pierce x Santana Lopez_

* * *

_Part I_

"Stare at me again and I'm going to claw your eyes out."

Had it been two or three years ago, Brittany would be cowed by such an overtly hostile response to her politely interested stare. But she was already fifteen and in high school, and has experienced every form and manner of ridicule and hostility her whole life that encountering it now no longer had the same effect on her.

Besides, the girl was really _really_ pretty.

(Not that Brittany thought that being pretty excuses bad behavior.)

When Brittany didn't run away or look away or even just freaking look scared at the threat, the girl glared at her one last time, before huffing and turning away. She began muttering something to herself in a language that Brittany didn't understand.

Cool, maybe this girl has her own secret language, too—Brittany made her own back when she was still in middle school (and this wasn't like the pig Latin that some of her peers used; hers was of a more sophisticated, high calibre level that she herself sometimes had trouble deciphering). She had been trying to crack the code that her cat, Lord Tubbington, has been using in his drug-dealing business, and she figured that she could trick him into fessing up his crimes and thus effectively end his shady career, and making legal and respectable jobs an option for him once more.

But anyway.

Brittany let her eyes trail after the pretty girl until she disappeared into the school building. She didn't know for how long she had been standing there, staring, but she snapped out of her thoughts as somebody stopped beside her and spoke up.

"She's a fiery one, isn't she?" Brittany looked around and saw her fellow Cheerio, Quinn Fabray, eye the retreating figure of the dark-haired girl.

"Yeah."

"Santana Lopez from Lima Heights Adjacent. She just moved here the other day and apparently impressed Coach Sylvester so much that she got into the squad even if the tryouts have already been over." Quinn paused for a moment. "What do you think of her?"

"She's really pretty."

Quinn let out a scoff. "I'm not asking for your assessment of her physical appearance, Brittany. I'm asking what you think of her skills as a Cheerio."

Brittany bit the inside of her cheek as she let the sting of the veneer of condescension in Quinn's voice wear away. She knew that Quinn didn't mean to be mean to her, well, at least not as much as other people; this was just the way Quinn was, beautiful but jagged around the edges, like a glass shard.

(Cold and unapologetic, but not always out of malice.)

"She can really hold her own, with the stunts. She's got more flexibility than most girls in the squad, and really graceful, too. Though she still doesn't me beat me in those areas. I'm still the best," said Brittany in her flat, matter-of-fact way of speaking.

A faint shadow of a smile appeared on Quinn's lips before disappearing in the blink of an eye. "All right. I think she's going to be a good addition to our team."

"But I thought she's already on the squad?"

"_Our_ team, Brittany. The top girls. You know, the one that's just composed of you and I?"

Brittany couldn't help but beam at that. "She's going to be our friend? That would be really cool!"

Quinn narrowed her eyes, before the corner of her mouth lifted up in a smirk. "Yeah, she's going to be our friend. Now let's go get changed."

Brittany let Quinn lead the way across the field and towards the part of the school building where the Cheerios' locker room was. After the first week of being in the squad, Quinn had made it a point to not be at the locker room when the other Cheerios were around, like she was trying to mark out the difference between her and them, building out this image of her being untouchable, unknowable. And Brittany, being Quinn's 'friend,' soon found herself staying back in the field with her after practice, either doing an extra lap or planning out together how to interact with their teammates and with other significant personages at school. Not that she minded it too much.

When they entered the locker room, it was already empty save for one or two stragglers who were already dressing up to leave. Brittany went to her locker and grabbed her towel, slinging it over her shoulders, and then retrieving her toiletries. Quinn had already went ahead, never the type to stay and talk when it didn't have anything to do with getting the top spot in the Cheerios, and by extension, the school.

Brittany let out a small sigh as she headed towards an empty shower stall. After hanging her towel, she turned on the shower and let the hot water sear her skin in those first few moments before it became soothing, in a way that nobody else was to her.

Brittany knew that Quinn only made the attempt to befriend her because Brittany was the best dancer in the squad, outshining even the upperclassmen. From the get-go, it was obvious that Quinn was a driven, ambitious girl who always played her cards right. She would keep all potential rivals close, instead of antagonizing them (not that Brittany wanted the top spot anyway)—and the others, well, she didn't deem them worthy of her time. So even if Quinn's intentions were far from being rooted in a feeling of warm companionship, Brittany didn't mind. She'd take this semblance of friendship, which was a shade more genuine than the ones that she had been exposed to before.

The image of the girl that was the subject of her and Quinn's earlier conversation flashed through Brittany's mind. If Brittany was going to be completely honest, she didn't really think the girl was pretty; she thought that she was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. The girl had the darkest hair Brittany had ever laid eyes on, almost like it was spun out of the threads from the tapestry of black moonless nights, and the girl's eyes burned with so much life and energy like they have taken the fire from the sun. She had a dusky complexion, her skin glowing in a way that reminded Brittany of the bronze statues she saw in one of the out-of-town museum trips her family sometimes made.

(Looking at this girl made Brittany remember the first dreams she had dreamed, dreams that she had never seen again since.)

These features, isolated, were enough to warrant an admission of her beauty, but what really made this girl stand out was the way she carried herself—not with the cool aristocratic collectedness that Quinn did, but with such smoldering defiance and the unspoken challenge she sent out to anyone who looked at her.

Whenever Brittany was around the girl, her body would tingle all over, like electricity was flowing from that girl to her.

It made Brittany want to get even closer to her, to touch her skin in order to find out if the current would be stronger. Just the mere thought gave her a thrill.

When Brittany had stepped out of the shower, she had already sorted things out in her head.

She was going to make Santana Lopez her friend.

**xxx**

Quinn was very efficient in the way that when she said that she'd do something, she'd have it done immediately.

The very next day, before the start of the Cheerios morning practice, Quinn beckoned to Brittany to follow her into the corner of the field where the girl with dark eyes was doing her stretches all by herself. When they were near enough and it was apparent to the girl that she was their intended target, she looked up towards them, her eyes narrowing in suspicion and her lips pressed together in a thin line.

"We'd like to talk to you."

The girl's eyes slid from Quinn to Brittany and back again, as if assessing them both. "What about?" she asked in a bored tone, though Brittany noted that her entire body had tensed up.

"We want to be friends with you so that we can be like the Three Blind Mouseketeers," Brittany blurted out. "Or the Roman Triumvirate. Or Triple Chocolate Decadence." Then after a beat, she added, "It's really delicious."

Two pairs of eyes snapped towards her, green ones of annoyance and brown ones of confusion.

"Britt!" Quinn hissed, grabbing her by the elbow and tugging her away until they were out of the girl's earshot. "What was that?"

"But that's what you said yesterday. You said we're going to make her our friend."

Quinn closed her eyes as she rubbed her temple. "Look, why don't you just go wait near the bleachers while I go talk to her. Alone."

Brittany looked at Quinn for a moment before answering in a small voice. "Okay."

She watched as Quinn approach the girl again and they started talking. The girl glanced at her with her usual burning gaze, making Brittany's breath catch. She hastily turned away before she did something that would irk Quinn again. She made her way to the bleachers and sat there alone, even as the other Cheerios were grouping together just a few feet away. She fixed her gaze on the two figures she had just left, partly out of curiosity and interest, and partly so that she wouldn't be too consumed by the thought of how even now she still felt acutely how she was excluded in most circles. But even as she tried to keep this thought at bay, she couldn't help but wonder that the dark-eyed girl was also keeping her distance from the other Cheerios.

(She wondered if the girl was doing it on purpose, like Quinn, or if she wasn't, like Brittany.)

For the other people looking, Brittany supposed that Quinn and the girl were just simply talking, but for her, it was quite obvious that a battle of wills was taking place. Quinn had drawn herself to her full height, even though she was only taller than the girl by an inch, while the girl had her arms crossed across her chest. Even from this distance, Brittany could sense the tension between the two.

As they were talking, the girl kept on glancing at Brittany and once, she even jerked her head towards her direction. Brittany felt her stomach do flip-flops at the thought that the girl, who seemed to have electricity in her veins instead of blood, was talking about her. She wondered what Quinn was saying, and she could only hope that her friend was saying good things about her. She didn't realize that she started tracing circular patterns on the pleats of her skirt (which was a nervous tick of hers).

Then finally, after what seemed like a long while, the two girls seemed to have agreed on something since the dark-eyed girl gave a curt nod and they were now walking towards Brittany, with Quinn wearing a triumphant smirk on her face. The girl's face was carefully guarded but nevertheless, when they were near enough, Brittany jumped down from her seat on the bleachers and said excitedly, "Unholy Trinity!"

Looks of confusion greeted her outburst so she hastily added, "I think that's what we should call ourselves."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "That's stu—"

"Good enough," the girl cut in, her voice still maintaining that bored cadence.

(In spite of this, Brittany felt her heart flutter.)

When the girl saw Quinn's raised eyebrow, she just shrugged. "Well, better than Top Girls. Which is A: grossly unimaginative, and 2: wanky."

Quinn blushed. "Whatever. Just keep in mind that we're going to rule this squad and as such, we must behave accordingly."

"Yeah yeah," said the girl, rolling her eyes in turn. Quinn cast a sharp look in her direction before making her way towards the other Cheerios, leaving the two of them alone.

"I'm Brittany, by the way," said Brittany, holding out her hand. The girl eyed it for a moment, before her eyes flickered to Brittany's face. When their eyes met, Brittany felt all her breath squeezed out of her body. She had seen before that this girl's eyes were of a beautiful shade of brown, what she would imagine mahogany tree trunks would look like if they were made of glass, but she never realized how beautiful they were, how even as they looked so fragile and so ready to break, they still managed to burn.

It was like a pair of cox. Or parade docks. Or whatever that was their English teacher said.

Brittany had been too caught up staring that she didn't notice that the girl had slowly raised her own hand to grasp Brittany's. But at the last second, the girl stopped short and she hastily broke the eye contact.

"Santana," she said gruffly before turning around.

Time seemed to have flowed again and Brittany breathed. She blinked a few times before realizing that she still had her hand outstretched. She lowered it and despite the slight pinching in her heart at the thought that the girl refused to shake her hand, she couldn't help but think that it wasn't an outright rejection.

She watched the girl join Quinn with the other cheerleaders as they began to line up for practice, still letting the moment sink in. A small smile played on her lips as she made her way to the group.

For the first time since she joined the squad, Brittany found herself looking forward to the practice and all Cheerio events.

**xxx**

Even though Santana was hanging out with Quinn and Brittany nowadays, she still kept much to herself, rarely talking to them. She performed the motions required of her, that of making scathing remarks to other students and executing stunts perfectly during practice.

Brittany wanted so bad to be able to talk to her but Santana seemed to make it her goal to avoid any and every opportunity to be alone with her. Brittany would keep watch for any chance to be by Santana's side—during lunch time, before and after practices, in between classes—but Santana seemed to be part-weasel; she always managed to slip away.

Santana would cling to Quinn's side whenever the three of them were together. It kind of made Brittany's chest hurt a little, especially since Quinn seemed to prefer Santana's company, too. Even if it was pretty obvious that Quinn and Santana constantly have a not-so-silent battle going on between them, they also seemed to have an understanding of each other, making their group seem like Quinn-and-Santana and then Brittany. Usually, Brittany wouldn't be so wired up and eager to get to know somebody, but her entire being was insisting that Santana wasn't just a somebody.

It was strange but her body seemed to just gravitate towards her, and every time they were in the same room together, Brittany would feel herself relax, that being near Santana was the most natural thing in the world, so that being without her just seemed so wrong. She didn't know how this could be, considering that she still didn't know much about this girl, and she had only been aware of her existence for just a couple of weeks. It was almost like she had been waiting this whole time just for this girl to appear. Like her entire life was a book and all that time before meeting Santana was just those first blank pages before the cover page. And when Santana had come into her life, the first chapter had began.

But with the way things were going, it would seem like she would be stuck with just the first page of the first chapter.

Until that Tuesday morning.

Brittany was usually dropped off at school by her dad (because she still managed to get herself lost even when she was riding the school bus), but their car had broken down that morning. Their neighbor, Mrs. Vaughan, offered to give her a lift but with Brittany's sense of direction leaving much to be desired and Mrs. Vaughan's memory of streets being stuck in the 70s, Brittany ended up in a street corner that was only vaguely familiar.

After standing there for five minutes, she finally remembered that this was the corner that she and her dad usually passed by on their way to her school, meaning that McKinley High was only a few blocks away. When she realized this, she heaved a sigh of relief. She pressed her hands together to give herself a cheer to lift her spirits.

But before she could do so, she noticed a figure in the red Cheerio uniform, with her black hair tied up in a high pony, appear on the next street corner. This figure was walking away from Brittany's direction so Brittany could only see the figure's back. She decided that her best bet to get to school was to follow this girl so she did.

She had only taken two steps when she realized that this Cheerio was Santana. That decisive way that she walked, that dark hair and swarthy skin (not to mention those smooth toned calves and nice ass—well hey, Brittany knew how to appreciate the human body and Santana _was_ a fine specimen), yep, it could only be her. A feeling of elation surged throughout Brittany's entire body at the prospect of finally _finally_ getting this opportunity to be with Santana alone.

She was about to quicken her steps when she saw Santana stop in the corner, where an old lady stood trembling, looking helplessly on either side of the street. Even though there wasn't much traffic this early in the morning, Brittany supposed that for an old person with slowed-down reflexes and poor eyesight and shaky legs, crossing the street was a nerve-wracking experience.

She watched in fascination as Santana turned to talk to the lady, gesturing to the crosswalk. Then after a minute, Santana offered her arm to the lady to hold on to as they both made their way across the street in slow steady steps. One car screeched to a stop and the driver honked his horn impatiently, making Santana turn to scowl at him and flip him the bird, all without pausing in her steps. When they finally reached the other side, the lady shakily raised her arms to pull Santana's face down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then to Brittany's pleasant surprise, Santana smiled bashfully before speaking a few more words to the lady.

They parted ways at the next corner, and Santana walked away with a slight spring in her step.

Brittany stood rooted to the spot for five more minutes before she remembered that she had to go to school.

When Brittany saw Santana at school, it was like that incident that morning never happened. She was still bitchy and mean to other people, tense and guarded with Quinn, and cool and aloof to Brittany. Brittany thought about bringing the incident up but thought better about it. Something about Santana's demeanor told her that the girl would just deny it and maybe even make a sarcastic remark.

So instead, Brittany thought of another plan to be closer to Santana.

The next day, Brittany asked her dad (their car had been fixed the day before) to drop her off on that same street corner where she saw Santana help the old lady cross. Her dad gave her a questioning look but she just shrugged her shoulders and hopped off. When her dad had driven away, she looked around to see if Santana was coming.

Nope, no sign of her.

She checked her time and saw that she still had a few minutes to spare before the morning cheer practice. What if Santana had already passed this way? What if yesterday was just a one-time thing? She gripped the straps of her backpack and rocked herself on the balls of her feet.

Finally Santana appeared, walking with deliberate steps. Her eyes flickered to Brittany's and for a split-second, they widened in surprise, but she immediately set them back to the path in front of her. She passed by Brittany, as if not seeing her. As she was about to step into the road, Brittany spoke up.

"Can you help me cross the street?"

Santana whipped around. "What?" she asked, her brows meeting together in a frown.

"I don't know how to cross the street." Brittany could feel her face heating up as words just poured out of her mouth. "And my cat used to help me but he's undergoing withdrawal right now so I'm on my own."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"No," Brittany quickly replied. "But I could be down with that."

Santana's eyes widened in bewilderment. "What?"

Oh. Brittany must have gotten the question wrong. She usually got them wrong, but she had also learned that when this happened, she just had to repeat the 'what' that followed her reply. So, with her face blank and her voice even, she asked back, "What?"

Santana's brows met together in a frown of confusion. She studied Brittany's face intently and after a few tense moments, her features relaxed, although there was still something guarded about her expression.

Brittany felt hope rising within her, and she can totally hear the 'yes' that was about to come out of Santana's mouth—

"No."

"What?"

"I said no." With that, Santana turned and proceeded crossing the street by herself.

Brittany was too surprised at the rejection to move from her spot. She looked on, with her heart slowly sinking, as Santana reached the other side without so much as a backward glance.

Brittany supposed that she had overestimated her plan, but how could she not when Lord Tubbington himself gave his purr of approval when she reviewed it with him last night. Still, she was so sure Santana would say 'yes'; there was that (momentary) look in her eyes that had said as much, and Brittany had never been wrong about reading other people's eyes, ever since that incident back in third grade with that mean kid Larry Silver.

Brittany's mind had wandered back to third grade that she didn't notice that the other girl had turned back and was now crossing the street again to be at her side.

It was not until she spoke that Brittany snapped out of her trance.

"Fine," said Santana, her eyes filled with a mixture of suspicion and something Brittany couldn't quite identify. "Follow me."

"Um, can I—can you—?"

"What?" Santana snapped.

Brittany gulped. "Can I hold on to you?"

Santana's eyes raked over Brittany's face, then she flickered her gaze away. Her eyebrows were still scrunched up, and Brittany thought that her expression looked rather cute.

"Don't push your luck," said Santana, though there wasn't much heat in her voice. "Just follow me."

Brittany couldn't help the smile slowly spreading on her face, as she skipped her steps behind Santana. And because she had already won one victory, she thought it wouldn't hurt to make it one-and-a-half. She grabbed the end of the backstraps of Santana's bag and held on to it. Santana didn't seem to have noticed this since she kept on walking, but for Brittany, it was a big thing.

Sure, she still hasn't been able to touch Santana but touching something that belonged to her was already progress.

**xxx**

It soon became part of a daily routine.

Brittany would wait for Santana in that street corner and together they would cross the street and walk towards school. Santana would still scowl and act like doing this was a chore, but then Brittany knew that she really didn't mind so much, or else why would she still be doing this for Brittany?

This tiny moment in the morning seemed to exist separately from the rest of the day since nothing ever changed in the way Santana acted towards her. But even so, Brittany couldn't help but think that this was the best thing about her day, every day.

Of course, since Brittany had already put her foot on the door, she thought that she should inch it a little bit wider.

So, one day, she thought of chatting Santana up.

"You're a really nice person, Santana," she said as they were crossing the street. Santana whirled around so fast that Brittany almost got knocked over.

"What?"

"I think you're really nice. Helping out that old lady and then me through this zebra crossing."

"How did you—" Her eyes darted to Brittany's hand which was holding on to the end of one of her backstraps. "What are you doing?"

Brittany opened her mouth to reply but a loud honk cut her off. An irate driver was yelling profanities, which they couldn't hear what with his windows all rolled up, and honking his horn obnoxiously. Santana snapped her attention towards him and flipped him the bird while yelling, "¡Hijo de puta!"

She grabbed Brittany by the wrist and dragged her across the street. Brittany was elated but she really couldn't feel Santana's touch since the sleeve of her Cheerio jacket got in the way. Still, it was another mark of progress.

Santana let go of Brittany's wrist once they had reached the other side. "Look, how did you know about the old lady?"

"I saw you. You were really nice about it and you even smiled at her when she kissed your cheek."

Santana flushed and she tried to keep her scowling expression but failed miserably. "I-I—look, that never happened. Don't you dare tell anyone about that!"

Brittany wondered why not but seeing Santana's flustered expression, she nodded. "I won't." Then she smiled slyly. "If we can hang out together at school."

"We _are_ hanging out together. With Quinn Bitch?"

Brittany frowned. "Quinn's not a bitch. And besides, I want us to hang out and actually talk and stuff. You never really talk much."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Oh, there are plenty to talk about. Like I want to know why your family moved here, how you like Lima so far, what's your favorite animal and what your opinion is on the matter of the leprechauns finally filing a lawsuit against humans for commercializing rainbows."

The expression on Santana's face looked so much like that of a child faced with a gigantic puzzle with all the pieces blown every which way that Brittany had to suck in her lips to keep herself from smiling. It was such a refreshing break from the scowls and dismissive snorts she usually got when she opened her mouth.

Finally, Santana seemed to have collected her wits or maybe just found her voice again. "What?"

Brittany shrugged her shoulders. "It's that or there's no deal."

"So you want me to talk to you in school."

"Mm-hmm. That would be a good start."

"There's more?"

"We'll get to that later."

"Okay, stop. Let me get this straight: are you blackmailing me?"

"No, I don't have any black envelopes. Besides, I don't even know your address." Then after a moment, she added, "But then I suppose I could just slip them to your locker."

Santana squeezed her eyes shut as she muttered something under her breath. When she opened her eyes again, it was to fix her most threatening glare at Brittany, which kind of lost its effect with the way she still looked bewildered with what was happening. "Fine! Just—just don't tell anyone."

"Okay! That's a deal!" Brittany clapped her hands together.

Santana narrowed her eyes.

Brittany pressed her lips together to keep herself from grinning. She had a feeling that Santana wouldn't have liked it too much. She did, however, hold out her hand, just like that day on the field after Quinn had asked Santana to join their group.

Santana eyed the proffered hand. "What now?"

"You have to shake my hand to finalize the deal." When Santana still didn't say anything, she continued. "There's no deal unless you shake my hand."

Santana looked away. "This is ridiculous!" But she still made a move to grasp Brittany's hand. When she stopped within a few centimeters, Brittany closed the distance herself.

The moment she did so, she felt a strong jolt of electricity run throughout her body, and her breath catching in her throat. She stole a glance at Santana and was surprised to see the other girl quite still. Then Brittany realized that maybe Santana felt the same jolt, too.

"Did you feel it?" Brittany asked quietly.

That seemed to have snapped Santana out of her thoughts for she turned to look at Brittany, her face a picture of thinly veiled bafflement. But she seemed to have realized where she was and who she was with, since her expression suddenly changed into a scowl. "What are you talking about? Let's go."

Santana dropped Brittany's hand and stuffed hers into the pocket of her Cheerio jacket.

Brittany, her entire body still tingling, stood rooted to the spot for a few more moments. A slow smile appeared on her lips. That momentary physical contact with Santana had confirmed her suspicion:

This girl was somebody special.

**xxx**

Santana was true to her word.

From that day on, whenever Brittany would sidle up beside Santana, the girl didn't try to escape or find excuses to walk away. Well, she still didn't talk much either but at least now, she was trying to answer Brittany's questions, with one-or-two-word replies and a hum or a nod.

The difference was barely perceptible but Brittany thought that the way Santana would keep her eyes averted was more out of shyness than of disinterest.

Their daily morning routine also had a slight change. This time, when they were about to cross the street, Brittany would grab Santana's hand and hold it until they get to the other side. The first time Brittany did this, Santana froze up and Brittany had to tug her along through the crosswalk so that they wouldn't piss off the motorists. Brittany had half-expected to get a reprimand when they reached the other side. But if Santana had noticed that Brittany actually knew how to cross the street, she didn't say anything. She just wiggled her hand free and stuffed it into her pocket then continued on their way.

The next day, Brittany wondered if Santana had caught on. But she still appeared on the same corner, and this time she let her left hand dangle free, as if waiting for Brittany to take it. Brittany stole a glance at her but Santana kept her eyes steadily forward, her face a mask.

When Brittany clasped her hand with Santana's, it didn't take her more than two seconds to notice the firm and almost protective grip that the girl kept on her hand—almost like she was afraid that if she didn't hold Brittany's hand tighter, she would fly off like a balloon.

It made Brittany think.

Santana was always the first to offer (in her own discreet way), but she was also the first to let go as soon as they reached the other side. What made this even more curious for Brittany was the fact that Santana would just drop Brittany's hand, almost like she was afraid to prolong the contact more than necessary. Not to mention, she would stuff her hands on the pockets of her Cheerio jacket, as if to avoid any more unnecessary touching.

Brittany would have thought that Santana was afraid of it, of the physical contact between them, but then again, they _do_ hold hands when crossing the street.

It was honestly befuddling.

"Zebras."

"What?" Brittany's eyes snapped towards Santana, who, as usual, was looking straight in front of her.

"Nothing."

A smile quirked the ends of Brittany's mouth. The way Santana said the word seemed like she didn't intend for it to come out of her mouth. But nevertheless, this was the first time Santana had opened the door for a conversation, even if it wasn't intentional.

And Brittany wasn't about to let this go.

"When I was younger, I cried because I thought the zebras have all been ran over and got flattened to the ground. Did you know there are tiger, pelican, puffin and Pegasus crossings? I think it would be awesome if they actually used these crossings but I don't think the Pegasus would need it because they can fly and there's no traffic in the sky. Usually. I mean, there are planes and choppers but they're not that many. And besides, I think it's going to be difficult to fashion the clouds as signs; unless, of course, they can find a really good paint to use in the sky."

Santana didn't say anything. When they have reached the other side, Brittany anticipated Santana dropping her hand but to her surprise and delight, Santana didn't. Sure, she loosened her grip but she didn't let go. Picking up on this, Brittany kept their hands clasped together.

"I used to think Ped Xing was some famous Chinese guy who had a street named after him," she continued, intent on not make a big deal out of the fact that Santana was finally letting her hold her for no apparent reason. "But then I began to wonder about it when I keep seeing Ped Xings everywhere I went. I mean, usually people only have one street named after them, right? And then this one time my family went out for a drive and there was a sign that said Deer Xing and I thought that the Xing family must have been really important to have all these signs put up for them."

Brittany paused for breath. She cast a quick at Santana and found her deep in thought. After a moment, Santana said, "I used to think that, too… that Ped Xing was a famous Chinese man."

Brittany felt her smile widen, as she tightened her hold on Santana. Like she was afraid that this time, Santana would be the one to fly away like a balloon.

**xxx**

Schooldays have become the best days of Brittany's week, and being with Santana the best part of those days. More and more, Brittany found Santana warming up to her. When they talked (yes, it was finally becoming a two-way conversation, cue: fistpump), Santana would actually look at Brittany now. And when they walked, they were now in step with each other, no one leading and no one trailing behind. They even sat together in the classes that they did share.

Being with Santana was the greatest.

But that also meant that being without her was the worst.

Brittany had found out earlier on that Santana liked to disappear at various times during the day—sometimes in between classes, but sometimes Brittany suspected even during classes. The other Cheerios said that Santana was hooking up with some guy each time anyone remarked her absence. This piece of information didn't sit too well with Brittany, and she felt something twisting at the pit of her stomach. It was strange to think about it but she supposed she just didn't want to share Santana, and any moment that Santana spent with somebody else was a moment that Brittany didn't get to spend with her.

And Brittany wanted to spend every moment with her.

"Hey there, Brittany."

Brittany looked up from her locker to find a tall guy with a mohawk smirking at her. A quick glance around her showed her that the other football players were chatting it up with the other Cheerios. There must be a party coming on soon.

"Hey, Puck."

Brittany liked Puck, not like-like, but liked how she could identify him easily because of his hair. It was really difficult for her to pin names to people, especially when they didn't have anything to distinguish them physically, so when they had something unique going on for them, she was glad because it totally helped her out in remembering their names (like Quinn and her perfect eyebrows or Santana and her… everything).

"So I heard from Scott that you blew him away with your linguistic talents at the last party. So, why don't you _blow me_ away, too, this Friday?"

Snickers from the football guys and disgusted scoffs from the other Cheerios who heard littered the air.

Brittany shrugged her shoulders. "Okay."

Puck trailed his eyes slowly down Brittany's body. He gave a feral grin. "Looking forward to it." And with a wink and a not-so-subtle pelvic thrust, he pushed himself away from the lockers and went over to his buddies, giving out high-fives.

Brittany didn't think too much of this, especially not when Santana appeared just as the bell for fourth period rang.

"Santana!"

"Hey, Santana," one of the Cheerios, who was nearer to her, called out. "Too bad you missed it; the football guys have just been picking out their dates. If you don't hurry, you might end up with trash." Then a little softer, but still menacing, "Just like you really are."

Santana's eyes narrowed. "Bitch, please. Everybody knows that guys only offer to take you as a pity date because they want at least one good deed to tell St. Peter: 'Oh hey, I took this miserable crater-faced charity case to a party, that must be enough to get me to heaven, right, because all the poor souls in Purgatory cannot compare to her miserable pathetic existence.'"

Brittany watched in fascination as the Cheerio's face paled and she hastily scrambled to get to her class.

Santana had by now spotted her (which wasn't that difficult considering there were only them and two others in the hallway) and was now walking towards her. "Hey."

Brittany felt her heart flutter a little. "Hey." When Santana was only a two steps away, she said, "You're really good with words."

Santana's eyes darted towards Brittany's, as if checking for something. Then apparently satisfied, she looked away. "Yeah, well, learning how to cut a bitch is a necessary life skill in Lima Heights." She looked around. "Looks like classes have started. What do you say we head to the bleachers instead?"

Brittany didn't expect this. This, Santana actually asking her to hang out with her (and yeah, to cut class, too), was something she had wanted to happen but didn't really expect to come true anytime soon.

"I can help you out with English," said Santana, eyeing her carefully. Then after a beat, she must have realized that she had let it slip that she sort of knew Brittany's schedule since she added more nonchalantly, "Or whatever."

Brittany couldn't help but smile at that. "I've been advised to not attend some of my classes in the hopes that it would help my grades."

Santana raised her eyebrow. "That bad?"

"Yeah," Brittany laughed. "That bad. So I'm going to have to take you up on your offer."

"Okay." Santana shrugged her shoulders but Brittany could see color rising to her cheeks. Santana cleared her throat. "Well, we better scoot before a teacher sees us. Let's go."

Santana seemed to have done this a lot of times since she knew exactly where to go. They found a spot under the bleachers, which gave them some privacy and a good cover. There were some band equipment stashed there and Santana went over to the pile, digging up something, while Brittany found a spot to sit on. After a minute, Brittany saw what that something was.

A pack of cigarettes.

As Santana got a stick and placed it between her lips, Brittany found her eyes focusing on Santana's mouth. Sure, she had noticed Santana's full lips before but her attention had never honed in on them like now, like she was wondering how they felt like, if they were soft and—

"You okay?"

Brittany blinked. "Yeah." She watched as Santana lit her cigarette and puffed out clouds of smoke. "Do you smoke a lot?"

Santana, who had her eyes closed, opened them lazily. She took a few more puffs before answering. "No. Only when I'm really stressed."

"What's stressing you out now?"

"Stuff." Then in a rather obvious effort to change topic, she said, "Don't worry, one stick isn't enough to leave me gasping and have Coach up in my case."

"Okay," said Brittany, in response to both the spoken and unspoken requests. "Is this where you go to when you just disappear?"

Santana chuckled. "What are you talking about? Haven't you heard what those other girls have been saying about me?"

"I have, but…" But what? Before she had been taken to this place, Brittany was sure that Santana was hooking up with guys whenever she was nowhere in sight. But now, seeing her like this, so guarded and yet at the same time not, Brittany was no longer that sure. "Do you believe everything that the other girls say?"

Santana snorted. "Of course not. Everything that comes out from their mouths is twisted in a way that would make them look better than everyone else." She took one last drag from her cigarette before throwing it to the ground and crushing it with the heel of her shoe. "I should know, I do that all the time. Though I always base on truth. Nobody likes hearing the truth, after all."

She rummaged through the pile of equipment again, this time retrieving a pack of gum. After taking a stick, she offered the pack to Brittany.

Brittany smiled as she took one. "Are these all yours?"

"Yes, if we stick to the 'finders, keepers' rule." Santana tossed the half-empty pack back into the pile. Then after a beat, she asked, "So, who are you going with on Friday?"

"Puck, I think."

"You think?"

"He wasn't very clear about it; he just said that I should blow him away this Friday."

"He what?" Santana's expression turned into a furious scowl.

Brittany swallowed nervously as she remembered Puck and Santana hanging around each other last week. "But if you're supposed to be going out with him, I'll just tell him I can't."

"No, that's not it!" Santana squeezed her eyes shut. "That fucking douchebag!"

A million reasons flitted through Brittany's mind as to why what she said seemed to have upset Santana. But there was only one that she cared about, one that could cut both ways.

She looked at Santana for a minute, before saying carefully, "It's okay, Santana. I like that he's being upfront about it." Santana opened her eyes and met Brittany's, making her pause. "It really confuses me when guys beat the club around the shrub."

There it was: the look of surprise as realization dawned on Santana. Brittany had known that everybody thought that she couldn't understand word plays, and fine, maybe she didn't sometimes—but only when it comes to low-level word plays; she was a pro and didn't usually play in the little leagues. So she didn't exactly think that Santana would be exempt from it (though that didn't mean she hadn't felt that little sting of disappointment). But what was important was how long that look would last.

Brittany held her breath.

Santana's eyes fluttered close and she ducked her head. But not before Brittany caught it, the look of surprise morphing into shame. When Santana raised her face again, she was biting her lip and in her eyes a look of contrition, which she tried vainly to hide. She cleared her throat. "So, uh, you're going with Puck."

Brittany bit back a smile. "We can go together, if you want."

"What?"

"I mean," Brittany's cheeks started to pink. "I'd really rather go with you than with Puck."

Santana took a step back, staring at Brittany. "What do you mean?"

Brittany tilted her head in confusion. "Just that, we go together to the party."

What sounded suspiciously like a nervous laughter bubbled out of Santana's lips as she shook her head.

"Santana?"

"I—"

The resounding ring of the bell announcing lunch cut through the air, followed closely by students making their way out of the school building. Santana had turned her head at the sound, and was now fixing her attention to the double doors opening and the people rushing out.

Brittany waited for her to continue what she was about to say earlier but when a minute ticked by, she asked again, "Santana?"

"Let's go?" Santana started to walk back towards the building without waiting for a response. Brittany let her eyes trail after Santana before her body followed and the two of them walked back together.

Santana didn't mention about going to the party again for the rest of the day or the day after, not even on the day itself. It was like the conversation never happened.

Brittany wondered if Santana just forgot. She was about to bring it up again that Friday afternoon, when they were all in the locker room, just after an exhausting Cheerio practice. Despite Quinn's protocol of going in only after all the others have gone, whenever there was a party, the girls always stayed longer, chatting up and bragging the man-candy they scored to go with. Quinn, as usual, ignored everybody else and was fixing something in her locker, which was beside Brittany's. Santana, though Brittany saw her at practice, was nowhere to be seen.

She was still looking around for her when she heard somebody speak up above the chatter around her.

"I hope that a certain dumb blonde slut here keeps her skanky paws to herself tonight."

Brittany had no reason to suppose that this statement was directed at her so she was about to brush it off, but the next statement, from another girl, made her stop.

"Don't hold your breath, Mandy. She thinks that the capital of Ohio is O so I really doubt she'd take the hint. Besides she's so stupid, she can only think with her vagina; I bet you a hundred bucks that she'll be throwing herself around again and stealing our men."

Brittany felt her entire body grow cold. Then before she could think better of it, she turned to look at the girls who were talking.

Their bodies were facing each other but their faces were directed towards her. In their eyes was pure, unadulterated hate.

When they saw her looking, their faces twisted into a matching sneer. "Oh look, looks like amoeba-brain can put two and two together. Yes, you man-eater, we were talking about you. So if it isn't too much trouble for your puny-sized brain, you better—"

"She better what, Crater-Face?" Santana appeared beside Brittany, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Judging by the looks of your cringe-worthy asses that look like they've been ravaged by all the venereal diseases known to man, I fully understand why your men would rather find someone else—in fact, I actually want to give them an award for being so charitable enough to let you two believe in that delusional dream that they are your men." She approached them, her figure becoming more and more threatening, judging by the way the eyes of the two girls widened in fear. "Just because nobody wants to touch your disease-ridden asses with a ten-foot pole doesn't give you the right to talk shit about Brittany. Let me hear you talk about her like that again and I'll give the two of you some Lima Heights hospitality." Santana was now so close to them that they all seemed to be sharing the air. When she spoke again, her voice was soft but the threat was palpable, like a butcher's knife covered by a cloth. "I will make sure to make your lives so miserable you'd wish you've never been born."

The effect was instantaneous, not only to the two girls, but to everyone else in the room. It didn't take three minutes before everybody cleared out. Everybody except Brittany, Santana and Quinn.

Brittany, who had been rooted to the spot with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, was about to thank Santana, when the girl turned violently to Quinn, who was placidly tying her shoelaces on the bench, as if oblivious to everything that has happened.

"Why didn't you stop those bitches?" Santana spat out.

Quinn didn't look up. "Why should I?"

"Because you're supposed to be Brittany's friend!"

Quinn looked up, her green eyes cold and unreadable. "I _am_ her friend, and that is why I am not going to coddle her and act like she's some toddler who can't defend herself. She's old enough, Santana, to fight back if she wants to. And if she's choosing to be stomped all over, well that isn't my problem."

"Choosing not to fight back is choosing to be better than a barbaric backstabbing bitch!"

"Like you're the one to talk. Aren't you the one who shreds other people with your words?"

"I never said I wasn't! I never said I was better!"

Quinn just raised her brow and shrugged her shoulders before getting up. Brittany could see it clearly now, the stark contrast between the iciness in Quinn and the fieriness in Santana.

"Whatever, Santana. I choose my own battles, and Brittany obviously chooses hers. I think you should learn something from us, instead of being such a war-freak. I don't expect either of you to defend me if somebody says something _unpleasant_ to me, so you shouldn't expect me to defend you either."

"You are so fucking screwed up! That isn't how friends treat each other! What's wrong, Quinn? Have you never had friends before?"

Quinn's face hardened and her green eyes flashed dangerously. "Oh, as if you have? That would be grand, isn't it, taking friendship advice from a grade-A friendship guru. Tell me then, why do I never see you with anybody else aside from us and those guys you sleep with?" Santana seemed too shocked to retort, so Quinn continued, "If you're so worried about Brittany, why don't you take care of her yourself—you seem good at that, anyway—instead of foisting that responsibility on me."

And with that, Quinn walked out of the room, leaving Santana and Brittany alone.

Santana was still breathing heavily from near-shouting at Quinn. Brittany tentatively touched her shoulder. Santana jerked away from the contact but relaxed when she realized who it was. "Sorry."

Brittany just shook her head. "No. Thank you. Thank you for defending me back then." When Santana still didn't speak, she continued, "I've never really learned how to make people stop saying things about me."

A half-hearted laugh escaped Santana's lips as she shook her head. "How did you manage to live through it all?" She squeezed her eyes shut before sitting herself down on the bench.

"I used to try to win them over by being nice and stuff, and it used to work. But ever since high school started, they just got meaner and meaner. So I just block them out. Pretend I don't hear them."

"And Quinn just stood idly by all this time?"

Brittany pressed her lips together. She didn't think that Quinn did anything wrong by not slashing those mean people with vicious, vicious words like what Santana just did. So she just shrugged her shoulders and said, "It's all right."

"It's not fucking all right!"

"I think Quinn has had people be mean to her before. She never looks whenever people are being mean to me and she always has this expression on her face afterwards, like she just ate something sour."

Santana snorted. "People being mean to _Quinn_? To Quinn _fucking_ Fabray? The Golden Girl? Like hell that ever happens in this world. People like her always get everything and live their lives with everybody grovelling at their feet, eager to please them, never knowing what it's like to be afraid and to have nothing."

The bitterness that coated Santana's words made Brittany flinch. Santana seemed to have realized she had said too much since her spine stiffened and she cast a quick glance at Brittany.

Brittany, sensing the change, opted to steer the conversation to another direction. "In any case, you're the best friend I've ever had."

That seemed to throw Santana off since her eyes widened. "Best… friend?"

"Yeah, you are," said Brittany, with a big smile on her face. "You have been ever since the day you helped me cross the street." Then she added a bit shyly, "I wish I'm your best friend, too."

Santana just stared for a moment, making Brittany duck her head. Then quietly, almost reverently, Santana said, "You are, Britt. You're my best friend."

Brittany felt her chest warm up like there was a fire burning inside her. She looked up and saw it was Santana this time who had her face averted. Nevertheless, Brittany let out a little squeal of delight as she grabbed Santana's hands, making the other girl look at her. Seeing her happy face, Santana couldn't help but smile back.

"Well then, best friend, what do you say we go to the party together?"

Santana rolled her eyes playfully. "Should've known you were gonna ask me for something."

"Well?" Brittany waited with an expectant grin, swinging their joined hands side-to-side. "I know you want to," she added cheekily.

Santana tried to scowl but couldn't help a cute little laugh instead. "All right, all right. We'll go together."

**xxx**

Brittany liked parties. She liked how people just let themselves loose and lived in the moment, dancing to the pulsating beat of the music playing over the loud speakers. She liked how people simply enjoyed themselves, drinking and laughing and making out.

Parties were the best thing ever.

Unfortunately, Quinn didn't share her opinion. Although Quinn still showed up at the parties sometimes, she never stayed for too long. She barely even drank anything (and when she did, Brittany suspected it was just soda). She would smile and dance a bit, talk to some people, flirt a little and then she would call it a night and ask the guy she was flirting with for the moment—usually it was that really tall guy Finn—to take her home.

Which was why Brittany was more than a little glad that Santana was their friend now. Santana seemed to like being in a party. Maybe not because of the same reasons that Brittany liked parties, but that was okay. It was just so nice to have a friend who actually liked being in one. It made things so much better.

But it wasn't just that that made going to this party different from before.

When they had left school earlier, Brittany realized why girls usually go with guys to parties. For one, the guys have cars to take them. The upperclassmen usually have their own, though the ones their age either snuck out their parents' cars or score a ride with their buddies who did. Well, some of the other girls had their older siblings or cousins take them but Brittany had never been close enough to these girls to ride with them and she didn't have an older sibling or cousin to ask either. She wondered briefly if, in the end, she and Santana would have to just meet up at the party place.

But Santana just said that she would pick Brittany up at her place and asked for her address.

As it turned out, Santana had a habit of sneaking out her mother's old BMW (the key to which she had duplicated in the first week they moved to Lima Heights) whenever her parents weren't around. And as luck would have it, her father was away for a medical conference for the weekend and her mother went with him, leaving Santana with the glorious opportunity of underage driving.

"Don't they know?" Brittany asked after Santana explained why she had the car.

"Oh, they probably do. But as long as I don't say anything about it or have them catch me doing it, we all pretend it doesn't happen," said Santana, her eyes on the road. There was a hardness to her voice that seemed to indicate that she was not only referring to sneaking the car out.

After a moment of silence, Brittany asked another question. "So they leave you alone at the house sometimes?" Realizing that this maybe a bit too personal, she added, "'Cause mine do, too. They tend to forget me a lot. One time they left me at Sears and I ended up spending the night there. I think they just remembered because Lord Tubbington kept calling out for me 'cause nobody gave him dinner that night."

Santana didn't say anything for a while. And when she did, it was just a soft "oh."

Brittany sensed that the whole atmosphere have gotten heavy, and realizing it may have been because of what she said (which actually wasn't that bad, in her opinion; it was just a fact and facts aren't good or bad, they just are), she asked, "Do you like to dance?"

Santana took a quick glance at her before shrugging. "Well enough."

"I love to dance. It makes me feel like I'm filled with sunshine and I can pee rainbows and poop butterflies." Then after a beat, "I'm actually pretty awesome at it."

Santana smiled. "Yeah, I can tell that much, from the way you move during practice. Have you been taking dance lessons?"

"I used to. My PE teacher back in middle school owned a dance studio and she offered to give me free lessons. Those were the best. I get to learn all kinds of dances like hip-hop, jazz and a bit of ballet. But she moved away last year, so."

"That's too bad," Santana murmured, her brows meeting together in a small frown. Brittany felt her heart flutter.

"It's all right, 'cause in the meantime, I get to try out different things. Like I've recently gotten into motocross. There's this sweet old man I met when I got lost at the edge of town a few months back and we got to talking and when he saw how I interested I was, he told me he could teach me all about motocross. Long story short, he's coaching me now and he said when he thinks I'm good enough, he'll lend me one of his bikes and enter me in competitions. So I go over to his shop every Saturday, when there's no practice. On other days, I've been working on writing the script for my own web TV talk show. There's this second-hand camera I've been saving for, and I think I'll be able to get it before the school year ends. If all goes well, I might be able to air my first episode next year."

"You are a girl with many interests, aren't you?" said Santana, laughing. It wasn't a mocking laugh or a forced laugh. It wasn't even a big laugh. It was just a small one, giddy and genuine, the type of laugh that Brittany had long associated to accompany a pleasant discovery. Brittany herself used to laughed this laugh when she was younger; not so much recently. The fact that she was hearing this from Santana, the girl who scowled 98% of the time, made Brittany laugh that laugh, too.

Santana just arched her brow but didn't say anything, just waited for Brittany to speak.

"I think it's cool to try out many things. There's just too many things to do, too many things to find out, you know?" And because this was her secret dream, she added softly, "I'd love to be able to travel around the world someday."

They've just arrived at their destination and Santana parked the car across the street. There were other cars parked around the area, some haphazardly, which made Santana's parking stand out. When Santana had killed the engine, she turned towards Brittany, meeting her eyes. She smiled.

"I'm sure you will."

There was no trace of doubt or patronizing indulgence in those brown eyes; only frank sincerity and firm belief. It was something that Brittany had never seen in anybody else's eyes when they looked at her. She felt something squeezing her heart like somebody just gave it a bear hug.

And because she didn't know how to express her appreciation and gratitude for those words, she unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over to press a soft kiss on Santana's cheek.

When she pulled back, she saw Santana just staring back at her with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open in surprise. She tentatively touched the spot on her cheek. "What was that for?" she asked breathlessly.

"For being nice and sweet," said Brittany, pink tinting her cheeks.

"You must be mistaken, I'm anything but those things," said Santana gruffly, looking away. She tried unbuckling her seatbelt but her fingers kept slipping so Brittany leaned over again to help her with it. Santana stopped breathing and that her entire body had gone rigid. Brittany pulled back as soon as she was done to check on Santana.

"You all right?" she asked worriedly.

Santana exhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering before she closed them. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. "Yeah. Let's go?"

Brittany felt a wave of relief wash over her; for a moment, she was afraid that Santana was having an attack of some sorts.

"Sure."

The moment they stepped inside the house, Brittany immediately discovered the second reason why it was common for guys and girls to go to parties together. When a girl had a guy with her, all the other guys didn't call out to her or grope her (too much).

She and Santana had just crossed the hallway and already Brittany had felt grimy hands slap her ass and hot stinky breath, with the bonus of lewd offers, blown across her face more than a few times. When she glanced at Santana, she saw that the other girl was having the same problem. On Santana's face was an expression of disgust and annoyance and when a hand reached out to grab her, she slapped it away and said in a voice loud enough to be heard by people around them, "Try touching me again and I'll cut you up with the razors in my hair."

"Whoa, take it easy there; you girls are fair game, right?" said the guy who had tried to touch her. "I don't see your dudes around."

"Watch it, bro," a familiar voice cut in. Puck's swaggering figure appeared beside the guy. He was looking at both Brittany and Santana with a smirk. "These girls are Coach Sylvester's new favorites, you know. If you don't want to have a dragon breathing down your neck for the rest of your high school life, I suggest you heed our fiery little miss here and back off." He eyed Santana with this hungry expression that made Brittany's stomach twist.

The guy scoffed but took the hint and wandered off. Puck quirked his eyebrow as he switched his gaze from Santana to Brittany and then back to Santana again. "If I had known you two were coming together, I would've offered you girls a lift. You know I just got my own ride the other day."

"It's okay. San's got a car."

"Oh, is that right?" Puck looked impressed. "You never told me that."

"Well we aren't exactly the type to do pillow talk, are we?" Santana snapped back.

Puck just laughed. "Right, right. What was it you said again? Yeah, 'more macking, less talking.'" Brittany felt the knot in her stomach grow tighter. "So what can I get you girls? Beer? Cocktails? _Cock_tails?"

"Gypsy Rose. I certainly hope you know what that is."

Puck puffed his chest out. "Please. I've been mixing drinks since I was in preschool."

"Wow, already planning such a stellar career at Scandals at such a young age. I'm impressed."

"Your snark is always a turn-on, babe." Puck gave her a wink before making his way through the crowd.

When he was gone, Santana tugged Brittany towards an empty and somewhat hidden area below the stairs. "What an asshole."

"Really? He seems nice, offering us drinks like that," said Brittany, ignoring the unexplainable knot of feelings at the pit of her stomach. "Plus it really looks like he likes you."

Santana turned to her, visibly upset. "Was he always like this to you?"

"Like what?"

"Like—ugh! I can't fucking explain it!" Santana closed her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Most boys are like that," Brittany shrugged. "It doesn't really matter though; it always end the same anyway." At Santana's confused expression, she continued. "I mean, they want sex and I like sex, so we always end up doing it anyway." She smiled. "I'm pretty awesome at it, too."

Santana ducked her head. She cleared her throat before looking at Brittany again. "That's not the point," she said, frustration lining her voice.

"Am I supposed to say no?"

Santana looked torn. "Well, not exactly… I mean, if you don't want to." A shadow crossed her face but disappeared quickly. She laughed bitterly. "I'm in no place to be saying any of this anyway."

Brittany frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Santana's expression hardened. "Nothing, never mind."

"Okay. I've…" Brittany paused.

"Yeah?"

"I've never been good at saying no." The moment Brittany said it, a memory flashed before her eyes and a wave of nausea came over her. Santana caught her in her arms.

"Britt?"

Brittany shook her head as the feeling passed. She disentangled herself from Santana. At the sight of her worried face, Brittany forced a smile. "I'm all right. Just got a little dizzy."

Santana looked around her. Then she grabbed a skinny guy who was passing by.

"Listen, Jeeves, and listen good. If you don't want your skinny ass tied to the flagpole come Monday morning, you better get me a glass of water pronto. I'll be counting up to ten and if you're not back by then, consider your ass forfeit."

As the guy scurried off, Santana made Brittany sit on the old couch at the corner. "Do you want to go home?"

Brittany shook her head again. "I'm fine, really. Besides, I really want to dance. You know, some people come to these parties just to watch me dance." Brittany added with a light-hearted laugh, "I'm like the main event."

Santana studied her face carefully. Finally, she said, "Okay, if you say so. But first you have to drink some water."

And as if on cue, the skinny guy returned with the glass of water, sloshing it a bit in his hurry. Santana took the glass from him unceremoniously and dismissed him with a curt nod. "Here, drink up."

They stayed in the corner for a few minutes more, not talking. Santana was looking at the group of jocks at the corner as they shotgun their beers, but every so often she would steal a glance at Brittany. Despite the warm fuzzy feeling in her chest that Santana's concern inspired, Brittany didn't like their first party together to be like this, tainted by a dark cloud.

So she jumped to her feet and grabbed Santana's hands, tugging her to the dance floor. "Come, let's dance!"

And because Santana still looked unsure, Brittany let go one of Santana's hand to grab one of the drinks lined up at a table they passed by on their way to the dance floor. She shoved the red solo cup to Santana. "Drink!"

"Britt, I'm driving."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "It's just one drink, San. And you could always drink lots of water later." Then she added slyly, "Or is Santana Lopez a lightweight?"

Santana let out an indignant scoff. "Oh please. Me, a lightweight?" She took the cup and downed the contents in one gulp. She grimaced. "God, that tasted awful."

Brittany just laughed. She took the empty cup and tossed it to a corner, before continuing on their way to the dance floor.

A lot of people were already there, swaying to the beat of the music. Some were so drunk that they were just convulsing their bodies and some weren't exactly dancing at all but were just dry-humping. But Brittany didn't mind, just as long as everybody was having a good time. Actually, she couldn't bring herself to mind much anything at all, especially since she was with Santana.

Brittany started bobbing her head to the music, and when Santana started doing that too, she grinned and let herself loose. This was her territory, her stage, and it didn't take long for people around them to know this. The crowd backed away to give Brittany the space to move freely. Santana had also taken a step back as she witnessed for the first time Brittany in her element.

It was automatic. Once Brittany let herself be lost in the music, she literally forgot about everything else. All she was aware of was the pulsating beat, the adrenaline rushing in her veins, the feeling of being free. She closed her eyes as she revelled in this heady sensation.

She didn't know for how long she had been dancing but she soon felt somebody dancing next to her. And it wasn't just somebody with half-assed dance skills, it was somebody who knew how to move their body as well. In that split-second, she thought of Santana. She wished it was Santana. She opened her eyes and saw—

Mike Chang.

Oh.

But of course.

Mike was popping and locking around her, complementing his moves to hers. Despite her disappointment, Brittany couldn't help but feel a rush of happy feeling at having him dancing with her. She liked Mike. He wasn't like the other guys who, when they sidled up next to her in the dance floor, would immediately try to grind against her. Instead, he would just move to his own beat, and would match her moves. At one party, they even demonstrated how to do the dougie together, to the delight of the onlookers.

Brittany could tell Mike loved dancing as well and that he understood the feeling of freedom in getting lost in the rhythm. When they were dancing together, she could feel a kindred spirit.

Except that this time, there was a niggling feeling that kept her from completely enjoying the dance with him.

When he took her hand and spun her around, her eyes caught brown ones, brown ones that were staring fixedly on her.

Santana.

She wanted to dance with Santana.

When she had circled back to Mike's arms, she put a hand on his chest. He got the hint and just smiled and twirled around to pop and lock some more. By this time, the crowd had joined in, and Brittany had to make her way through them to get to Santana.

She found her still standing at the edge of the dance floor. Brittany stopped in front of her and grinned.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Dance with me."

Santana laughed as she shook her head. "I'd rather not. I'd just make a fool of myself beside you."

"Please?"

Santana looked away. "Where's the guy you were dancing with?"

"Mike? I think he's still dancing in there." A thought crossed Brittany's mind, making her bite her lip. "Do you, uh, do you want to dance with him instead?"

That made Santana snapped her eyes back to Brittany. "No, that's—that's not it." She glanced around before meeting Brittany's eyes again. "I mean, you seemed to be enjoying yourself with him, and…" She trailed off, punctuating it with an awkward laugh.

Brittany wasn't sure what Santana was trying to say. She shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, but I want to dance with you." She smiled her slow cat-like smile. "I can teach you some of my moves, if you want."

Santana laughed again, her eyes bright. "Right here, right now?"

"Right here, right now," Brittany nodded. "Besides, even if you do make mistakes, I don't think anybody here would mind."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Well, yeah. Everybody seems to be drunk off their asses."

"Plus you're, like, super-hot and nobody ever makes fun of super-hot girls. Especially when they're dancing."

Santana ducked her head. "Whatever," she mumbled.

Brittany blinked. Was Santana… embarrassed? Brittany laughed that little pleasant-discovery-laugh.

"What?" Santana looked up, frowning.

Brittany shook her head. "You're just too cute, is all." That made Santana duck her head again. Brittany resisted the urge for another laugh. "Come on, cutie pie."

Santana tried to look stern but failed. She broke into a grin as she let herself be led to the dance floor.

They spent the rest of the night just dancing, and when Puck finally found them, Santana blew him off, saying he was too slow. She grabbed Mike, who was dancing nearby, as if to prove her point, but as soon as Puck left, disgruntled, she pushed Mike away from her with a "Don't get your hopes up, Wu-Tang." Brittany just gave him an apologetic shrug and he just shook his head and danced again.

When they were tired, they sat themselves on a corner, with Santana threatening yet another skinny guy to get them water.

"This was fun."

Santana smiled. "Yeah."

Before Brittany could stop herself, she let out a yawn. Santana chuckled.

"Haven't been sleeping much?"

"I've had to stay up late last night to re-do my English homework," said Brittany, rubbing her eyes. "Mrs. Renner said that I can't draw a sonnet. Which totally doesn't make sense 'cause I just did—I mean a sonnet is the love-child of a sunset and a bonnet, right? But anyway, she told me to re-do it and use words. Which is a shame 'cause I think words can't ever capture a sonnet."

Santana smiled. "Well, my offer still stands. I can help you out on your schoolwork, if you want."

Brittany smiled back. "That would be awesome."

"All right then; we'll set a schedule. Anyway, let's go home?"

"Yours or mine?"

Santana flushed. "I mean, let's go to our respective homes."

"Oh. Okay."

The drive to Brittany's place was quiet, which Brittany attributed to the fact that she had dozed off a couple of times on the way. When Santana nudged her awake, telling her softly that they've arrived at her house, Brittany was almost sad. She tried unbuckling her seatbelt but her eyes were too heavy and her fingers too stiff. Santana just chuckled and helped her with it. When Brittany still didn't move even when she was freed from the seatbelt, Santana said gently, "Hey, you need to get some sleep."

"I know," Brittany mumbled, making Santana laugh.

"Goodnight, Britt."

"Goodnight, San."

Brittany leaned over to kiss Santana's cheek, but either her coordination was really shot or her subconscious was doing her a favor, she ended up pressing a kiss on the corner of Santana's mouth. When she pulled back, Santana was looking at her with a curious expression.

"For coming with me tonight," said Brittany with a sleepy grin, "and making it the best party ever."

Santana lowered her eyes as a smile slowly spread on her face.

Brittany climbed out of the car and walked to their door. But before she opened it, she turned back and waved at Santana, who was waiting for her to go inside first. Santana gave a small wave back. Because Brittany didn't want to end this night just yet, she continued waving until Santana rolled her eyes and mouthed the words, "Go inside."

Brittany laughed and with one last wave, she went in.

It was only when she had changed into her pyjamas and she was lying on her bed did she realize that this was the first time she went to a party and didn't get wasted nor end up having sex with a guy. Not even spending the majority of which dancing with a slew of other people, which was usually the highlight of parties for her.

And yet, just like what she told Santana, it was the best party ever.

**xxx**

Come Monday morning, during practice, Coach Sylvester made an announcement that sent a frisson of surprise and trepidation among the gathered Cheerios.

"Listen up, you sloppy excuse of athletes! Your deplorable performance had me puking out my guts worse than when I contracted typhoid back in the Ganges. So in an attempt to get your mediocre asses the slap that they obviously need, I'm naming Quinn Fabray as the vice-captain of the squad. She'll be replacing that incurable disappointment of a Cheerio who I will not trouble my brain cells to recall."

Some of the Cheerios looked around them to see who was missing.

"But she's only a freshman," somebody muttered a little too loudly.

Coach Sylvester narrowed her eyes as she directed her megaphone to the girl who spoke up. "Maybe if you lazy bums actually spent every moment of your worthless lives practicing, you would have reached the level of skill that Fabray exhibits even though she is _only a freshman_. Now, if any one of you wants to bleed out your bitter gall, I suggest you do so while running ten laps around the oval. Do I make myself clear?"

The girl cowered beneath Coach Sylvester's glare. "Yes, Coach," she mumbled.

"Oh and Richardson, Wakefield!" Two girls came forward, shaking slightly. "A little bird told me that you two have been stinking up our supplies room with your disgusting hormone-driven trysts with your meathead boyfriends."

"C-Coach, that's—"

"Shut your trap, I didn't ask for your confirmation. You two, run some suicides. Now! And don't stop until I say so."

Brittany and Santana followed them with their eyes as they ran towards the oval.

"Lopez! Pierce!"

They both snapped their attention back to their coach.

"Fabray recommends you two highly, and I admit I may have spotted a glimpse of your potential, which may have well been my eyes playing tricks on me—they have been ever since I had to get my eyeballs replaced after some stray shrapnel burst the original ones during one assignment back when I was serving my country in the Special Forces. Ah, those were the days." Coach Sylvester's eyes turned hazy in recollection as she stared off in the distance. She snapped out of her reverie. "I may have something for the two of you if you prove yourselves to me. Don't disappoint. Now get out of my sight."

Brittany and Santana hastily dismissed themselves as their squad captain came up to Coach Sylvester to discuss the routines.

They made their way to Quinn, who was looking at the two girls running suicides. She had her hands on her hips, her shoulders pulled back and her chin raised. Brittany couldn't help but think how Quinn looked so much like a Head Cheerleader right now. She smiled and skipped over to her.

"Hey Quinn, congrats! I think you're going to be an awesome vice-captain! And thanks for recommending San and I. That's really nice of you."

Quinn just glanced at her and nodded. "Why don't you two do some warm-ups?"

"Wait, are those two—?" Santana furrowed her brows as she got a good look at the two girls. Brittany followed her gaze and she gasped in recognition.

"What did you do, Quinn?" Santana asked, still frowning.

Quinn just shrugged. "I may or may not have let slipped their misdemeanors to Coach."

Santana snapped her eyes to Quinn. "You're something else, aren't you?" she muttered with a grudging smile.

Brittany looped her arm around Quinn's and rested her chin on her shoulder. "Thank you."

Quinn turned her face away. "You two warm up or you'll be running laps."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, vice-captain."

With one last squeeze on her arm, Brittany let Quinn go and joined Santana for warm-ups.

**xxx**

Santana no longer snuck off in between classes.

Brittany only realized this on Wednesday, when she was standing by her locker, waiting for Santana. It was kind of strange to think how every new development in their relationship, like their daily early morning street-crossing routine and now them spending those minutes in between classes together, have felt so natural. In fact, Brittany was finding it increasingly difficult to remember how she had spent her mornings and in between classes without Santana.

(It made her think of that blank book again, how the first chapter only began when Santana came to her life. And as the words were being written out, they seem to say this was how things ought to be, so they were and so they would be.)

"Hey, Britt. Did you wait here long? Mr. Schuester kept me after class to talk about my test, and he even had the gall to correct me with my grammar," she groused as she opened her locker. "Like, hello, I'm the one who actually speaks Spanish here outside an academic institution. Wouldn't I, of all people, know when to use _pensar_ and _creer_?"

Brittany just smiled. "Then why are you taking Spanish?"

Santana shrugged as she replaced her Spanish workbook with her geography textbook. "Easy A." Then she rolled her eyes. "But with the way Mr. Schuester's teaching Spanish, I might end up getting a B instead. B! In Spanish! My abuela's going to hit me with a chair if that happens." She closed her locker. "But before she does, I'm gonna set Mr. Schuester's sorry excuse of a car on fire—Lima Heights style." She stopped short as she mulled this over. "No wait, I might be actually doing him a favor if I do that."

Brittany would be lying if she didn't say that hearing Santana rant was one of the things she looked forward to every day. It wasn't because she actually liked hearing Santana trash people or stuff that irritated her (well, maybe she did; Santana's colorful vocabulary _was_ pretty entertaining), but more of how she liked the idea that Santana was letting her in on her thoughts and feelings. Which was unlike before when their conversations were more perfunctory and were often initiated by Brittany.

Besides, whenever Santana ranted, her face would scrunch up and Brittany found this so freaking adorable that it was all she could do not to pinch her cheeks ('cause she has a feeling that Santana wouldn't be too pleased with it).

"So, how was your class, Britt?"

"Oh, the usual." Brittany didn't particularly enjoy talking about her classes since she always got yelled at or laughed at. But seeing Santana's attentive expression, she relented. "Well, we had another assignment, this time we were supposed to write about Nell and Tina, one's a villain and the other's a nun. We were to tell why they were so different, and I said that obviously one's a bad guy and the other prays for the salvation of our souls. Unless of course, Tina's also the kind of nun who totes a machine gun and shoots demons with it. And then Mrs. Renner told me to stop and to use my brain for once and then she didn't call on me again for the rest of the class."

"What a bitch!"

"It's fine. I think I just got everything wrong again."

"Britt…" Santana bit her lip. "Want me to come over after practice so that we can work on your assignment?"

"Yes, please," Brittany beamed. Then remembering something, her shoulders slumped. "Oh, I forgot, I have some chores to finish." After a few seconds, she perked up again. "How about Friday?"

"Friday's good. All right, we're gonna make that bitch eat her words."

Brittany raised her brows. "Wow, can one really eat words?" Then after a beat, "Do they taste bad?"

Santana furrowed her brows. "Wait, no, that's—" she began but she caught the twinkle in Brittany's eyes. She huffed. "I can't tell when you're being serious or not."

Brittany smirked. "You'll learn."

Santana pouted before breaking out into a smile. "Yeah, you bet your sweet ass I will. And I'll enjoy every minute of it."

"That makes the two of us." A pause. "Can I bet on your ass, too?" Brittany waggled her brows.

Santana rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Come on, charmer, let's go before we're late for Geography."

**xxx**

Brittany couldn't keep still.

She's been home for twenty minutes and she had arranged and rearranged her books and her notes on the table a zillion times now. She would have just waited downstairs but she was sure that she would just be pacing across the living room, or attempt to arrange the contents of the fridge by color and that usually annoyed her mother. So she sat herself on her bed again.

Lord Tubbington, who was settled nicely on top of her dresser, fixed his gaze on her.

Brittany shrugged self-consciously. "Hey, no judgment, Tubbs. I can't help it if I'm jitterbuggy. Santana's coming over and she's like the awesomest girl in the school, maybe in all of Lima. I bet when you see her, you'd be a smitten little kitten, too." She narrowed her eyes at him. "But you're not allowed to hit on her; she's my friend. And besides, I know you've been eyeing that pretty tabby."

Lord Tubbington didn't say anything, just continued watching her.

She rolled her eyes. "No, she's not replacing you, Tubbs. You'll always be my number one confidant. Besides, no one can ever replace anyone."

_Ding-dong._

Brittany jumped to her feet. "She's here!" She bounded over to the door. But before she left, she turned to Lord Tubbington again. "Now don't you run off. She can't be your girlfriend, but you two can be friends." She smiled. "I'd really like it if you two can be friends. It would mean the world to me."

With that, she hurried downstairs.

Her mother had already opened the door. Santana was standing at the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"Um, hi, I'm here for Brittany?"

A pause. "Oh, right, right. She's upstairs, I think."

"I'm here," said Brittany, reaching the bottom of the stairs. She quickly took in the confused expression on Santana's face and the distracted one on her mother's.

"I'm going to watch Hailey's soccer match," Brittany's mother said, as she finished putting on her earring. "We'll be back later. If you get hungry, I think there's still a plate of mac-n'-cheese at the fridge you can heat up." She grabbed her handbag and was about to go out of the door (Santana had stepped aside to let her through) but turned to Brittany at the last second. "Do you want to come along?"

Brittany smiled but shook her head. "Nah, Santana's here to help me study. Besides, I don't think Hailey minds. She told me it was just a practice match anyway."

"Right, right," her mother's head bobbed up and down. "Well you girls behave yourselves. There's a plate of mac-n'-cheese at the fridge you can heat up." She furrowed her brows before shaking her head and walking towards the driveway.

When she was gone, Santana walked in, her eyes still following the direction Brittany's mother's car drove off to. "Your mom seems pretty… preoccupied."

"That's just how she is. She forgets things a lot, too. I think I got that from her."

"Oh." Santana stopped at the hallway, frowning.

"Let's go upstairs? All my stuff are in my room."

"Okay."

"Oh and Lord Tubbington's psyched to see you."

"Lord Tubb—whoa! that's one fucking enormous cat! What does it weigh, ten tons?"

"San, be nice. Tubbs may not show it, but he's kinda sensitive with his weight."

"No kidding," Santana muttered as she dropped her bag at the foot of Brittany's bed. She had her back turned to Lord Tubbington but she must have felt his gaze on her. She cautiously turned around to meet his eyes.

Brittany watched in amusement as Santana entered into a staring match with her cat.

"San, what are you doing?"

"Shh, Britt. I know how guys like this work. You have to show them that you're not intimidated, communicate through your eyes the strength of your spirit."

Brittany rolled her eyes but she bit back her laughter. Santana was 100% serious with this. It actually made Brittany's heart melt a little.

"It's all right, San. Lord Tubbington and I have an understanding; he won't bother us, he just wants to get to know you a bit."

"Well, I must tell you, my experience with felines has taught me how this usually goes down: with a lot of hisses and screams and scratches and claw marks. On both parties."

"Tubbs is different. He's the sweetest thing. Even though he's in the mafia. Actually, I don't think those things are mucho exclusive anyway."

"They aren't?" Santana frowned, finally breaking the staring match to turn to look at Brittany.

"No. I mean, you're kinda mean to other people but you're also incredibly nice, too."

Santana ducked her head. "You know that's not true."

"You're nice to me," Brittany pointed out.

If she hadn't been listening carefully, she would've missed Santana's mumbled "Only to you." But Brittany heard it and she couldn't help but walked over to Santana until they were standing face-to-face, well as much as Santana's bowed head would allow.

"Hey." Brittany bumped her forehead against the top of Santana's head. Santana reluctantly lifted her face so that they were now looking at each other. "You are the nicest, smartest and hottest person I've ever known. That's an indisposable fact."

"Indisputable," Santana blurted out.

Brittany grinned. "See? Other people would've just rolled their eyes at me or laugh or correct me with the better-than-thou look on their faces. You don't."

Santana opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she just stared and stared at Brittany.

Brittany couldn't read the expression on Santana's eyes; sure, she could see the questioning look in them, but it wasn't just that. There was something else, something she couldn't define yet.

_Meow!_

Brittany was jolted out of her thoughts to realize that she and Santana had moved so close to each other that they could practically feel each other breathe. Brittany blushed. Santana jumped back and began rifling through her backpack.

Brittany didn't know whether to be mad at or grateful to Lord Tubbington for his timely interruption.

"So, anyway, I brought some cookies since munching on something always helps me when I'm studying." Santana took out a plastic container filled with chocolate chip cookies.

"Did you make these?"

Santana gave a small awkward laugh. "Well yeah, after my high school glory days, I do intend to follow the footsteps of the many unremembered women before us. Women who had toiled and served food for their ungrateful husbands and kids and stayed at home and have no other pastime than knitting and baking. Be a Susie Homemaker, so to speak." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "So I thought why not practice early?"

It seemed like a joke, the way Santana said it, but somehow Brittany couldn't shake the feeling that some parts of it were said in earnest. Not sure what the proper response would be, Brittany thought 'what the hell' and said, "You don't strike me as someone who'd settle for that. Besides, you can be good at cooking and baking and knitting and still be something else." Brittany beamed. "I'm good at dancing but that's not all I'm gonna do."

"Well, you _are_ a very talented individual, Miss Pierce," said Santana in a faux-British accent.

"Why thank you, Miss Lopez. I accept that compliment graciously." Brittany made a small bow. "And I would say the same to you, but I fear you would only wave away my ardent admiration."

Santana burst into a fit of giggles, which Brittany promptly joined in.

"Besides," Brittany added, "I have this feeling there is still much about you I have yet to learn."

Santana turned to look at her with a soft smile on her face. But it was gone in a moment. "Anyway, we've goofed off long enough. Let's start working on your assignment." When Brittany pouted, Santana added, "So that we can also start on the cookies."

The next hour was spent on Santana explaining the difference in structure and rhyme scheme between villanelles and sestinas. Lord Tubbington occasionally interrupted their study session as he tried to get into the cookie goodies, to which of course Brittany stopped him, saying that he had to follow his diet plan if he ever wants to win the heart of that orange tabby she had seen him singing to the other night.

Santana stretched her arms. She looked outside the window and saw that it was already dark.

"How long do these soccer matches usually last? I was under the impression that your family would've arrived by now."

Brittany look up from her notes which were spread on her bed. "They probably had a celebratory dinner or something. Are you hungry?"

Santana frowned. "They're having dinner without you?"

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Brittany sat up. "Yeah, it happens. I mean, it _is_ Hailey's soccer match."

"Practice match."

"A match nonetheless."

"But you're part of the family, too."

Brittany just shrugged. "They just forget sometimes." When the frown on Santana's face still didn't disappear, Brittany said, "Hey, it's no biggie."

"But how could they forget you?"

"I guess they just have a lot of things on their minds. I mean, I forget a lot of things, too, when I have many things to think about, like Nells and Tinas. Sometimes, I even forget to eat breakfast." She scooted closer to Santana, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Besides, they always end up remembering to bring me something anyway. Or at least, Hailey does. She's the best little sister in the entire world. She's kinda bratty sometimes but she's generally sweet. Hey, I'm sure you two would get along."

"Britt… how can you be so nonchalant about this?"

"Non-chalice?"

"Nonchalant. Unconcerned."

Brittany shrugged again. "Because it just is. That's how it's always been and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. It's not like I'm missing anything, 'cause Hailey always makes it a point to tell me if something important happened." Her eyes flickered between Santana's. "Don't look at me like that," she said softly.

"Like what?"

"Don't look at me sad like that. I don't know what to do with that, Santana, and I don't think there's anything you should be sad for me for."

"Britt, I—" but she stopped short. Santana just shook her head. "Nothing, never mind." Then after hesitating for a moment, she said, "I have to go."

Brittany nodded. She had initially wanted Santana to stay and eat mac-n'-cheese with her but she had already guessed by the heavy atmosphere that it would've ended up being awkward.

"Will you be all right by yourself?"

Brittany smiled. "This isn't the first time I've been left alone, Santana."

The words "That doesn't necessarily mean it's still all right" came out of Santana's mouth before she could stop it. Her eyes widened and she snapped her mouth shut. She hastily grabbed her backpack and with a quick "Goodbye, see you on Monday" she left.

As Brittany sat alone in her room (Lord Tubbington had wandered off downstairs when he realized he wouldn't be able to get a cookie), she had this unsettling feeling that Santana had just opened one of the sealed boxes inside her head.

And also that it wouldn't be the last.

**xxx**

When Brittany saw Santana on Monday at the street corner a few blocks away from school, she skipped over to her and gave her a sunny smile. "Happy Monday morning!"

Santana, who had been fidgeting the whole time she was waiting, returned the smile weakly. "Good morning to you, too."

Brittany frowned. "What's wrong? You're looking a little pale."

"Just cramps."

"Haven't you taken anything?" Brittany asked, concerned. "We can stop by the farm."

Santana fought back a smile. "I'll just swing by the clinic at school after practice." When they held hands as they crossed the street, Brittany's thumb rubbed small circles on the back of Santana's hand. "Did you eat your breakfast today?"

Brittany turned to look at her, but Santana kept her eyes in front of her. Still, a small smile played on Brittany's lips. "Yeah, I did. Though we ran out of Lucky Charms, so not so much."

Santana hummed in response. When they reached the other side, Santana withdrew her hand from Brittany's hold, making Brittany pout in confusion. But Santana didn't see it since she was busy looking something from her backpack. After a minute, she took out a small pink lunchbox with a Hello Kitty design, which made Brittany say "Aww."

"Shut up, it was a phase," Santana mumbled, pushing the lunchbox to Brittany.

"Hello Kitty is never just a phase; it's a lifestyle," Brittany said seriously. She took the lunchbox. "Um, are we having lunch for breakfast?"

"No, that's just for you. You know, in case you're still hungry or something." Santana looked away. A big, warm feeling bloomed in Brittany's chest and she felt the urge to wrap Santana up in a hug. But she stopped herself, since Santana still looked out of it, and plus, she might spill the contents of the lunchbox. So instead, she quickly pressed a kiss on Santana's cheek before she opened the lunchbox.

"Brownies!" Brittany squealed as she saw what was inside. "This sure beats breakfast for dinner—dessert for breakfast!" She took one and started eating. She closed her eyes and moaned. "This is so good."

Santana coughed awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, Britt? I think we should get going." When Brittany opened her eyes, she saw Santana glancing around her, evidently flustered

"Okay." But she couldn't stop herself from teasing, she leaned over and whispered to Santana's ear, "But it really was orgasmic."

"Brittany!" Santana jumped back but immediately regretted the sudden movement as her face contorted with a grimace.

"Oh my gosh, Santana, I'm so sorry, are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Santana took a deep breath. "Let's go?"

"But the brownies?"

"You can just eat them while we walk."

"Yeah but then I wouldn't be able to hold your hand."

Santana let out a little laugh that sounded almost bashful. "It's all right, Britt. I'm not gonna leave you behind."

'It's not that,' Brittany thought, but she supposed there really wasn't any way to hold the lunchbox, take the brownie and also hold Santana's hand all at the same time. (She really wished she had three hands at this moment.) So she just nodded and chewed on another brownie.

They started walking again and Brittany, with her cheek bulging with chewed brownie, said, "It's amazing how you knew I'd rather have sweets for breakfast."

Santana stole a quick glance at her before answering. "I thought of just packing you what I had for breakfast but my mother would have asked too many questions. Besides, that would have been harder for you to eat before practice."

"Mm-hmm," Brittany hummed, not buying into it.

Santana rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. "All right. I don't know, maybe the Skittles and Pop Tarts that were on your room were a dead giveaway. That and the way you managed to eat most of the cookies ten minutes into studying."

That made Brittany burst into giggles. "Excellent work, detective."

"Elementary, my dear Watson."

"High school, you mean. And it's Pierce, not Watson."

"Nice try, Britt," said Santana with a wry smile, not even glancing at her.

Brittany raised her brows, impressed. "Ooh, somebody seems to have Poker Face figured out."

"Who knew that spending an afternoon with you would have sped up the process," Santana turned to her with a smirk. But it soon softened into a shy smile. "Don't expect me to get it right every time, though."

"Nuh-uh. You've already gotten my hopes up. You just have to come over often enough then." Santana paused, a slight crinkle forming between her brows. Brittany added, "Besides, you did promise to help me out with schoolwork and I've been having trouble with a looot of 'em."

Santana's frown was replaced with a reluctant smile. She rolled her eyes. "Sure."

"Awesome!"

"Why do I feel that you always get me to do what you want?"

"Maybe because it's what you want, too?"

Santana stopped walking. Brittany stopped too and she turned to Santana. "San?" But Santana didn't say anything and just looked straight at Brittany's eyes, as if searching for something in them.

Brittany didn't know what it was Santana was looking for or what she was seeing now. What Brittany did know was that she was seeing something like fear flicker behind Santana's eyes—fear and suspicion and the now-familiar blankness that didn't signify emptiness but a wall.

(A wall behind which Brittany suspected most of Santana's thoughts and emotions were hidden.

The fact that she could now identify more than one feeling in those eyes made Brittany wonder if she was getting good at deciphering Santana's looks, or if it was because Santana was slowly letting her in, maybe without even knowing it.

Or it could be both.)

Brittany was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost didn't notice that Santana had looked away and was now walking again. She quickly followed Santana's pace. She was thinking of what to say to lighten up the mood but Santana beat her to it.

"You better finish those up before anyone sees you. God knows Coach Sylvester's gonna flip when she finds out we actually eat."

Brittany nodded and concentrated on eating. When McKinley High was in sight, Brittany had eaten all save two and Santana told her to just keep it for when she gets hungry in between classes.

Quinn, as usual, was already in the field. She was talking to their captain when she spotted them. She excused herself and went over to them.

"You two are late."

"No, we're not. Coach isn't even here," Santana said.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "If she was, then you two wouldn't be just late. You two would be dead. Anyway, what Melinda and I have—Brittany, are those brownie crumbs on your face?"

"Huh, what, no!" Brittany hastily rubbed her face with the back of her hand.

"Don't tell me you've been eating brownies. If Coach finds out, she's going to make you run until you vomit."

"She won't, if no one's gonna be a tattletale," Santana snapped back.

Quinn turned to Santana. "And what's wrong with you? You're looking awful."

"Oh gee, thanks for the compliment."

"Are you going to tell me or do you want Coach to be the one to ask you?"

Santana glared at her but still didn't say anything.

"She's got the cramps," Brittany finally said. "She forgot to take painkillers."

Quinn looked at Brittany and then back to Santana. She raised an eyebrow. "That's a first; you never forget anything. Don't you have some stocked up in your locker?"

"No," Santana gritted out.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. Then she sighed. "Come with me. I think I still have some."

"Isn't Coach arriving any minute now?"

"Then we just have to start moving this very instant, don't we?"

Santana muttered something to herself, as she grudgingly followed Quinn to the locker room.

They both came back just seconds before Coach appeared, yelling abuse through her megaphone. Despite the fact that Santana still looked a little off, she didn't mess up the routine and the morning practice went off without a hitch.

Through the rest of the day, Santana acted like she always did. At first, Brittany thought that the painkillers were doing their job pretty well. But it didn't take long for her to realize the slight difference in Santana's actions today. She was more sluggish and a bit listless and didn't talk much, though not enough to call anybody else's attention.

(But then again nobody paid much attention to anyone anyway, except maybe those lovesick fools who watched their crushes like a hawk. And of course, concerned best friends.)

Brittany would have asked how she was doing but the very fact that Santana was trying so hard to look okay made her reconsider.

Later, when Brittany asked if she was coming over after the afternoon practice, Santana just shook her head and said that she probably wouldn't be able to concentrate.

"Okay, but we could just sit on the couch and watch Sweet Valley High and not do school stuff."

Santana smiled thinly. "I'd really rather be alone, Britt." Then realizing how it sounded, she amended, "Next week, for sure."

Brittany nodded. She watched as Santana packed her things and left the locker room, the first time since the party she and Brittany didn't leave together.

She frowned when she realized that what Santana just said seemed to be at odds with what she told Brittany last Friday.

**xxx**

"So, your name's Brittany, right?"

Brittany looked up and found herself looking at a tall broad-shouldered guy with sandy-brown hair, wearing a letterman jacket. He leaned against the row of lockers on his shoulder. "You know I've been seeing you around. At the parties, Cheerio practice. You've got pretty sweet moves." He waited for Brittany to respond but she just looked back at him. He started fidgeting. "Tom Hunter, baseball team."

"Have you found Jerry?"

"Who's Je—oh, Tom and Jerry. Yeah." He let out a small awkward laugh. "Like that. Tom. I mean, I'm Tom."

Brittany smiled. "I like Tom."

"Great." The guy looked a little relieved. He started running his hand through his hair. "I was actually wondering if you're doing anything after school today."

Brittany shook her head. "Not that I can remember."

The guy nodded. "All right, great. What do you say I take you to this really good diner at the edge of town?"

Brittany bit her lip for a moment. "Sure."

The guy broke into a huge grin and Brittany thought he _was_ kinda cute. "Awesome. So I'll just wait for you out on the parking lot later."

"Okay."

"Okay," the guy echoed. He straightened himself up and with a "See you later," he turned around and walked away.

"Who was that?"

Brittany nearly jumped in surprise. She looked behind her and saw Santana.

"Tom Hummer, softball team. I think."

Santana just looked at the retreating figure until he disappeared around the corner before turning to look at Brittany. "Oh. What did he want?"

"He just wanted to ask me out."

"Okay."

"And I said yes."

"Okay."

Brittany waited for Santana to say something more but she just went over to her locker and started putting back her textbook from the previous period and getting the one for the next. If Brittany counted correctly (and she was pretty confident with her math skills so long as the numbers involved were of the single digit variety), it was the third day of Santana's period. Also the third day of her being a bit subdued overall. Brittany wished she could do something about it but she didn't know what. She never had much trouble with hers, and she rarely ever got cramps. It just made her a little bit sad that Santana wasn't feeling 100% all right.

(And maybe also because Santana liked to pretend that she wasn't not feeling 100% all right.)

"Was it okay I said yes?"

Santana frowned. "Why are you asking me?" she asked a little too sharply.

Brittany was slightly taken aback but she recovered quickly. "Because you're—"

"Look, you don't have to consult me every single time some guy asks you out." Santana's eyes widened and she snapped her mouth shut. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She let out a small sigh. "Sorry… I-I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay, Santana. I understand." Santana opened her eyes, and Brittany could see they were muddled. "Are you still having cramps?"

"Yeah. They're not usually this bad, though." She closed her locker. "It's fine. You going out with that guy, I mean. He looks decent. Quite plain and could really use a good haircut, but decent."

Brittany smiled. "Yeah. You know what, I think we can double! That will make it more fun!"

Santana grimaced. "I'd rather not. In my current state, prolonged exposure to the male species makes me puke." The bell for fifth period rang. "Ugh, Math. You have Social Studies, right?" Brittany nodded. It always made her insides tingle, the fact that Santana knew Brittany's schedule. "So I guess we part ways here." Santana turned around to walk towards her class. Brittany's was at the opposite direction. But she just stood there to watch as Santana walk away.

(Brittany would never walk away first. She thought it was because she loved watching Santana and she wouldn't miss a second of it, if she could help it.)

But before Santana turned around the corner, she looked back and said, "Don't forget to make him work for it. Tell me the awful details later and I'll commiserate with you."

Brittany laughed. "I promise."

The date actually went pretty well. Tom was nice, didn't talk too much about himself, listened to Brittany when she talked (though it was obvious he didn't understand 98% of what she was saying), didn't make any suggestive jokes or movements, and even opened the door for her.

And yet, Brittany couldn't stop thinking about Santana, if she was feeling better, what she was doing at this very moment, and wishing she was there with her, too.

(Even when Santana was in her cranky mood, Brittany still wanted to be with her.)

When she and Tom started making out in his car, she was surprised to find out that she couldn't keep her mind from wandering, from looking forward to the prospect of calling Santana and hearing her voice. This has never happened before since whenever Brittany did 'stuff' with guys, she was always in the moment. Doing 'stuff' was something she enjoyed, after all. But now, right now, with this guy who was both cute and nice, Brittany just couldn't be in the moment.

So she pulled back and said that she forgot that she had to check up on Lord Tubbington's blood pressure so she had to be home soon. Tom nodded and didn't look pissed that their make-out session was cut short.

When Brittany had bounded up to her room and dialled Santana's number, she had already forgotten what Tom Hunter looked like.

**xxx**

Santana was back to her normal self the following week.

Which, of course, made Brittany ecstatic.

But that was only one-half of the reason. The other half had something to do with the fact that Santana would be coming over to her place to help her study. To be clear though, it wasn't the actual studying part that Brittany was looking forward to; it was the private-Santana part, which Brittany had figured out that only she was privy to.

(Her stomach did somersaults and cartwheels at the thought.)

"What are these ribbons for?"

"Lord Tubbington likes to dress up sometimes. He says ribbons make him feel pretty."

"No, Britt. I mean these award ribbons."

Brittany turned from her seat to see what Santana was looking at. "Oh, those. Some are from the athletic meets back in grade school and middle school; and ooh, some were from talent competitions. Look at that big blue one. Guess what I did to win that."

"Um, you danced?"

Brittany smiled but shook her head. "I did a re-enactment of the Little Mermaid."

Santana's whole face lit up. Brittany felt her chest grow warm at the sight. "Oh wow! How did—was it just you alone—or was it—?"

"Just me. The tricky part was the transformation sequence, but with the help of some magic lent by my Fairy God-cat, I pulled it off." She puffed her chest proudly. "I designed my costumes myself."

Santana beamed but after a while, she knitted her brows. "My imagination sucks; I can't imagine how you did it. Do you have a video of that or something?"

Brittany's face fell. "No," she said. "My parents arrived late and they forgot the camera, so." She shrugged.

A shadow crossed Santana's face and Brittany almost expected her to frown or look sad or outraged or say something along 'How could they!' But to her surprise, Santana smiled. "Will you be repeating that performance anytime soon?"

"Maybe," said Brittany, drawing out the syllables. "It depends. Squid bro code."

"Squid what?"

"What do I get in return? Wait, it is squid bro code, right?"

Santana's lips quirked up. "Not quite but I like that better. Okay, what do you want?"

"I don't knooow. You don't tell me much so I don't know what your talents are."

Santana laughed. "I told you, being a Susie Homemaker." Brittany rolled her eyes. "Okay fine. I'll think it over."

"You can't think of anything now?"

Santana shook her head. "Nope."

Brittany narrowed her eyes. "Just so you know, I don't believe you." Santana just shrugged her shoulders. "You're unfair."

"No, I'm not. And, I know what you're doing. You're stalling."

"You're the one who asked about the ribbons," she shot back.

That made Santana pause. "Okay, point taken." Brittany pumped her fist in the air before making a V-sign. Santana fought back a smile.

"Oh, did you know that the peace sign, the circular one hippies use, is actually that of an airplane caught inside a circle?"

"No, I didn't know that. How does a plane become a peace sign? Is it like a metaphorical dove?"

"The circle is supposed to keep the plane from moving, 'cause they used the planes to carry bombs back then, right? So if the planes couldn't move—"

"—the bombs wouldn't be dropped. Oh." Santana thought about this for a moment.

"Cool, huh?"

"How'd you know about this?"

"It came to me in a fevered dream." Brittany grinned. "I forgot how I came across it; maybe I read it somewhere, maybe somebody told me. Oh, oh! Did you know that beetles taste like apples?"

"Really? How do you know that—wait a minute. You're stalling." Santana narrowed her eyes. "You're definitely stalling." Brittany turned away guiltily. "You know, if you keep doing this, we won't be getting much work done before I have to leave."

"Well…" Brittany shot stealthy glances at Santana. "You can just stay over. That way, we can have enough time for schoolwork and getting to know each other."

"Getting to know each other?"

"Yeah, 'cause, like, there are so many things about you I want to know about. I mean, I want to make up for the lost years." Brittany felt her face and the tips of her ears go hot.

Santana's expression softened. "Oh Britt."

Brittany coughed to cover her blush. "So, is that a yes? Are you staying over?"

"Not tonight. I don't have my stuff." Santana paused for a moment. Then she smiled. "But I can, tomorrow."

Brittany leapt out of her chair and launched herself to Santana, wrapping her in a hug. Santana stiffened for a moment before melting into her embrace. As she did so, Brittany felt a calmness descend on her entire body, a stark contrast to the adrenaline rush that propelled her to Santana's arms. She didn't ponder on the how and why of this, she couldn't, not when it was easier and made much more sense to just let this moment go on for as long as she could.

Santana seemed to be thinking the same thing since she didn't make a move other than to wrap her arms around Brittany's torso.

Eventually though, they disentangled themselves from each other, both of them wearing soft smiles.

"So tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow. Your parents don't have rules on sleepovers?"

"Nope. You can stay over as often as you like."

"You mean as often as _you_ like," Santana teased.

"Will neither confirm nor deny."

Santana rolled her eyes, still smiling. "All right, enough goofing off. Let's go back to those math problems."

**xxx**

When Hailey first met Santana, she asked in a not-too-friendly voice, "Who are you and why haven't I seen you before?"

To which Santana merely raised a brow at her and then turned to Brittany with a look that plainly said 'Who is this munchkin?'

"Be nice, Hailey. This is Santana; her family moved here from Cleveland just this year."

Hailey's bright blue eyes, which were so similar to Brittany's but different too in the way that they were always so sharp and piercing (pun not intended) when Brittany's were open and calm, darted from Brittany's face to Santana's. She frowned. "What, can't she speak for herself? Is she, like, mute or something?"

Brittany glanced hastily at Santana and saw a vein throb on her temple. Santana narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw and Brittany had seen this look enough times to know that it usually preceded a slew of vicious, vicious words.

"She, uh—"

"Look here, Thumbelina. Why don't you go back to your thimble and scrounge around for some manners because I ain't taking no shiii—izzles" Brittany sucked in her lips to keep from laughing at the save "from you. And you're gonna be seeing a lot of me from now on, so it would be to your best interest to not piss me off, 'cause you don't want to mess with Snix."

Hailey met Santana's gaze, unperturbed. "Who's Snix?"

Santana crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Snix is my alter ego who's well-versed in good ole Lima Heights hospitality."

Hailey's eyes darted between Brittany and Santana again. After a moment, she said, "I'd like to talk to Snix."

"Snix ain't talking to no smurfette."

Hailey glared at Santana, who also glared back. Brittany shifted uncomfortably. Okay, maybe thinking that her sister and Santana would get along right away and have tea and crumpets together in Hailey's room surrounded by Mr. Snugglepants, Ms. Cuddlygoo and Ms. Rainbowheart was a stretch. But she earnestly hoped that this wouldn't escalate to a catfight.

She feared for Santana's safety.

"Fine," Santana said through gritted teeth. "What do you want to talk about?"

"_That's_ Snix?" Hailey asked, unimpressed.

"Why you little twerp—"

"Fine, I can work with that. Follow me, if you please."

Santana shot a questioning glance at Brittany, who just shrugged. Santana turned back to Hailey and nodded curtly. They made their way to Hailey's room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"In case she has to make a break for it," Hailey whispered to Brittany before disappearing into the room.

Brittany went to her room, which was on the opposite end of the hallway. She didn't know what was going on in Hailey's room since Santana was the first person she had brought over to the house, and so the first to be subjected to Hailey's welcome. In any case, Brittany wasn't too worried. She had confidence in Santana. Besides, Hailey did leave the door open for her to escape.

She didn't realized she had dozed off until Santana tapped her arm.

"Britt?"

Brittany rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Time is it?" she mumbled.

"A little after six."

Brittany blinked owlishly as she looked around her. It was already dark. "How'd it go with Hailey?"

Santana sat herself on the bed beside Brittany. "Well, we had a serious discussion regarding house rules. Over tea and crumpets."

A huge grin broke through Brittany's face. "Told you you two would get along."

"'Get along' would be stretching things too far, don't you think?" But Santana was smiling. "That Lilliputian sure is something. I can envision a bright future in interrogation and intimidation for her."

After that, Hailey tried crashing into their study sessions but never stayed for longer than fifteen minutes since she would get bored. Eventually, she would just drop by to say 'Hi' or 'Goodnight' to Brittany (and blow her raspberry at Santana).

Brittany's parents were more or less welcoming of Santana. Over dinner (when the entire family was home), they would ask about Santana's family. The same question every single time. But Santana didn't seem to mind and she would answer politely (while trading kicks with Hailey under the table).

This made Brittany quite happy. Not the least because she was seeing changes, small ones but still, in her family. Like how her parents seem to remember her more and more often, especially when Santana would bring up what happened at school that day. Or how Hailey began to talk more, as if competing with Santana in telling stories.

Somehow, things seemed to have gotten a bit better at home.

Unsurprisingly, the sleepovers soon became a regular thing.

So much so that Brittany had taken to clearing a drawer and a spot on her closet for Santana's clothes and toiletries. Sometimes, they even did their laundry together so that Santana needn't have to bring her clothes back to her house just to have them washed and then bring them back again. It was like they were living together in Brittany's room.

The routine was simple: they come home, talk about random stuff, study, eat dinner, study a little more (but which almost always devolved into them giving out random trivia about themselves), get ready for bed, then sleep.

Brittany loved everything about the routine, but after one particular night, she began loving one part more.

On the first night that Santana stayed over, she asked where the spare bed was. Brittany just looked at her blankly before saying, "You're sleeping on my bed with me."

Santana sucked in her lips as a tiny frown creased her brows. "But will we fit?"

"Duh. Of course. I don't move around so much in my sleep. Why, do you?"

Santana shook her head. "Not really." But she still wore a frown.

"We can spoon, you know. That way we get both a cuddle buddy and a sort-of blanket!"

Santana's eyes widened and she quickly looked away. She coughed awkwardly. "I, uh, I kinda like my own space when sleeping…"

"Oh." Brittany deflated.

Santana glanced at her. After a moment, she sighed. "We'll find a way."

The way was this: Brittany and Santana slept on the same bed, Brittany on the right side and Santana on the left.

(Santana had asked which side Brittany preferred, and to be honest, she did prefer the left 'cause she liked looking out of the window. But that was before Santana. Now, she would rather see the moonlight or the sunlight and then them on Santana.)

But Santana would always, always settle close to the edge, as if wanting to put as much distance as possible (without being too obvious about it) between her and Brittany, and always with her back turned towards her. Brittany would have liked that distance to be non-existent but she respected Santana's need for space.

(That didn't mean she wouldn't make attempts though. Just a little each night until Santana realized being close to her wasn't so bad.)

And yet, it wasn't Brittany's subtle scheming that would close the distance between her and Santana.

When Brittany woke up in the middle of the night, she found Santana standing beside the bed, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Whatcha doin'?" Brittany asked sleepily.

"I just went to pee and when I came back, Tubbs took over my side," Santana grumbled.

Brittany peered down at the bed and sure enough, Lord Tubbington all curled up nicely on Santana's side. She chuckled before closing her eyes again.

"It's not funny, Britt. Where am I gonna sleep?" There was that little whine in Santana's voice that Brittany hadn't heard before. For a brief moment, she saw Santana as a little girl. The image made her smile.

"Come here," Brittany mumbled, patting to her right as she scooted closer to Lord Tubbington to make space.

"It's too small."

Brittany rolled over until she was lying on her side. She opened her arms. "Come here," she mumbled again, her eyes still closed.

Santana hesitated, perhaps debating with herself whether to sacrifice space or sleep. Eventually, the need for sleep won out and she padded over to Brittany's side. She settled herself gingerly on the space Brittany provided, careful to still keep a few centimetres of space between them.

Which was rendered meaningless as Brittany put her arm around Santana's middle and snuggled closer to her so that her front was touching Santana's back.

But even in her half-awake state, Brittany could sense the shuddering breath that Santana let out. And then, she relaxed and her breathing evened out.

Brittany smiled and she was soon drifting back to sleep.

Santana didn't say anything about it in the morning, but later that night, she didn't settle near the edge of the bed anymore.

**xxx**

"What do you think about the boys in our school?" Santana asked one night as they were getting ready to go to bed. She plopped herself on the bed, making Brittany, who was already seated on it, giggle. It was refreshing and altogether delightful to see Santana relax and act like a kid. Somehow, this made it easier for Brittany to get over missing those times she didn't get to watch Santana grow up.

"Britt?"

"Huh, what?"

Santana rolled her eyes playfully. "I said, what do you think about the boys in our school?"

"Oh." Brittany tilted her head to the side. "I don't know; I haven't thought about them in a while," she answered honestly.

Santana scoffed. "What are you talking about? That's all girls our age and of our position are supposed to think about."

"But I don't." A pause. "Do you?"

Santana was silent for a moment. Eventually she admitted, "No. Not really."

"I doubt Quinn even thinks about them either."

"Au contraire, Britt-Britt, our virginal princess has expressed interest in one bumbling giant in the football team," Santana whispered conspiratorially. She sat up. "Which is why I'm asking what you think. I mean, I don't want us to be going after the same guy now."

Brittany felt a knot form in her stomach. "Oh. Do you already have someone in mind?"

"Nah. Well, maybe Puck." Santana shrugged. "If no one better comes along."

"I thought you didn't like Puck."

"I don't. But I don't like any of the boys either. He just seems to be the most viable option at the moment."

"Not all of them are bad. I mean some are pretty good actually." Then she added, a little meanly, "Better than Puck."

Santana frowned. "What do you mean?"

Brittany blinked. "In bed."

Santana's eyes widened comically. "I-I wasn't…" she stuttered before just giving up and looking away.

"Ohh."

Santana became silent again. Then she looked up, almost shyly. "How many have you slept with?"

"I don't know, I lost count."

Santana raised her brows. "That many?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Then, curiously, "How about you?"

Santana shrugged. "Many, too, I guess."

Brittany looked at Santana and noticed the way her shoulders slumped. "They weren't good?"

"They were decent."

"Oh, okay." Santana didn't seem too inclined to talk about it, so Brittany didn't say anything more.

"Lights out?"

"Okay."

Santana jumped off the bed and switched off the lights. She returned just as quick. These nights, Santana no longer kept her distance from Brittany nor have her back turned towards her. Brittany could now look at Santana's face and hold her close as she slept, and each time she did so, she would feel this surge of happiness followed by gentle calm. It made Brittany think that she was a little mermaid and Santana was the sea calling her home at last.

Santana looked at her curiously. "Why are you smiling, Britt-Britt?"

"I'm just happy."

"About what?"

"Having you here."

That made Santana smile widely, almost self-consciously, her dimples showing. Brittany loved that smile on her. She waited for Santana to close her eyes and mumble 'Goodnight,' like she usually did as soon as she had settled comfortably.

But tonight, she didn't do that. Tonight, she kept her eyes open, just looking at Brittany, looking at her like she was taking note of every detail on her face, and Brittany could almost feel that her gaze was a caress. Nobody had ever looked at her with such gentleness and attentiveness. Like she was the most beautiful person in the entire world.

(Which wasn't true. Santana was the most beautiful person in the world.

Also the sweetest, smartest and awesomest.)

Santana reached out to trace a line on Brittany's cheek with two fingers. Brittany couldn't help but let her eyes flutter close at the contact.

"Sorry," Santana whispered, drawing back her fingers. "The moon's bright tonight."

Brittany opened her eyes and caught Santana's retreating hand with her own. "It's all right."

She didn't let go of her hand and Santana didn't seem intent on having it back just yet so they laid like that for a while, hands clasped between them, just staring at each other.

Santana inched a little closer, as if drawn to her, to what she is seeing on Brittany's face.

Brittany could feel her heartbeat speed up. Santana was moving closer and closer, and Brittany felt one of Santana's legs brush against hers, sending a jolt straight to the spot between her legs, making her buck her hips.

Her eyes widened and she could feel her whole face heat up. She buried her face on the pillow and loosened her hold on Santana's hand, waiting for her to jerk away.

"Britt?" Santana's voice was soft.

Brittany turned to face her. Santana still hadn't pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry," Brittany mumbled. "It's been a while."

Santana nodded. "I know. We've been together practically every second of the day." A pause. "Am I keeping you?"

It took Brittany a while to process the question. When she understood, she shook her head vehemently. "No." Then because she just had to say it, "I-I'd rather be with you."

"Oh." Santana swallowed. Then she asked quietly, "Do you want to take care of it? I can leave."

"No, it's all right." Brittany blushed. "I've tried."

"Oh." Santana lowered her face. She didn't say anything for a long while. Brittany wondered if she had said the wrong thing. But it was true; she would rather be with Santana than with anybody else. Even if they promised to give her orgasms, nothing could ever come close to the feeling that being with Santana inspired.

Everything was silent for a long while that Brittany wondered if Santana had fallen asleep. Brittany squeezed her eyes shut and willed her still-racing heartbeat to slow down and the feeling between her legs to go away.

(This wasn't the first time she had felt it; being in close proximity with Santana at night had stirred up these sensations. But she had been able to stave them off most nights.)

Just as she had calmed her heart down, she heard Santana whisper, so soft that she almost thought she imagined it.

"Do you—um, do you want me to take care of it for you?"

Brittany's heartbeat sped right up again, stronger, faster and so loud she could practically hear it in her ears. She looked at Santana, wondering if the question was real and not part of her imaginings. After a prolonged agonizing silence broken only by their breathing, Santana stirred and made a move to inch away from Brittany. When she started drawing back her hand, Brittany held it tight.

"Okay," she said simply.

Santana raised her face and Brittany saw a mixture of fear, disbelief, hope and… want. She felt her breath escape her lungs and she gripped Santana's hand even tighter, as the sensation between her legs had turned into a burning ache.

When Santana still didn't make a move or say anything, Brittany took the hand she was holding and lowered it, close to where she needed it most. She loosened her grip and waited.

"Please," she whispered.

That seemed to be the last push Santana needed since she closed the distance between them. Brittany anticipated a kiss, but instead Santana had pressed her face against the side of Brittany's neck. The feel of Santana's hot breath made Brittany's senses go into overdrive, and she wrapped her arm around Santana and pulled her closer, until their bodies were flushed against each other. Santana started pressing hot, open kisses on Brittany's neck, making her moan.

Santana pulled back. "Shh."

Chest heaving, Brittany squeezed her eyes shut. She swallowed. "Please."

Santana didn't need to be told again and she returned to attack Brittany's neck, as her hand started inching to the skin revealed between the hem of Brittany's shirt and the top of her shorts. The first contact made Brittany buck her hips again and she wished that Santana would just go faster, but at the same time a part of her wished for everything to slow down so that she could take in everything that was happening at that moment. She let her own hand wander on Santana's back, slipping under her shirt and basking on her warmth, the feel of her smooth skin. Santana paused as she exhaled slowly, her entire body surrendering to Brittany for a moment, before her hand dipped lower, under Brittany's shorts, until she was cupping her over her panties.

Brittany couldn't take it anymore so she lowered her face to take Santana's earlobe between her teeth, sucking on it, before licking a trail down her neck. Santana's hips jerked. Brittany couldn't help but smile.

Santana wanted this, too.

Brittany boldly slipped her leg between Santana's. Santana stopped again. "Britt—" her voice was low and raspy.

"It's okay," Brittany whispered, kissing the spot just below Santana's jaw. But Santana still didn't move, just breathing hard. "It's okay," Brittany repeated. And she tried remembering what else to say, of situations similar to this. She found it, the three words that could calm Santana down.

"I won't tell."

With those words, Santana relaxed and started pressing open-mouthed kisses down Brittany's neck, alternately licking and sucking. Her hand began to move against Brittany's covered center, her middle finger stroking a line. Brittany buried her face on the pillow to muffle a moan even as her hips began to move rhythmically with Santana's movements.

"Inside," she gasped.

Santana just hummed and after stroking her two, three times more, she withdrew her hand to slip it under Brittany's underwear. Brittany knew that Santana had already felt how wet she was but now, when there was nothing between them, she couldn't help but blush at how obviously she had wanted this. When Santana's fingers dipped into her center, Brittany moaned into the pillow again. Santana took her time, touching, feeling Brittany down there, as if she was trying to learn her. Not wanting to leave her behind, Brittany withdrew her hand from Santana's back and slipped it under Santana's pyjamas, under her panties.

Santana sighed, as if she had been waiting for this. Brittany's fingers touched warm, soft and wet. She began to stroke Santana, the way she was doing to her right now, their rhythm matching. When Santana slipped a finger inside her, Brittany's hips jerked, seeking more. Soon it became two then three, and Brittany followed, burying her own fingers inside Santana. Their hands and hips began moving of their own accord, thrusting and undulating, until Brittany felt Santana tightening around her fingers, and then herself shaking, shaking so hard, coming right after Santana. Brittany held her close and she wanted nothing more than to kiss Santana's mouth that very moment, to taste her as she came, but Santana stubbornly kept her face on Brittany's neck.

They remained panting for a few minutes, before pulling their hands back. Santana still had her face averted, and Brittany began stroking Santana's back. After a while, Santana disentangled herself from Brittany.

"Santana—"

"Goodnight, Britt."

And Santana rolled over to face the window, her back turned to Brittany.

Brittany remained silent as she watched as Santana lay so tense, so still, as if the moonlight had turned her to stone. At the back of her head, she knew that tonight had caused a volcano of feelings to erupt. But right now, Brittany couldn't care.

Right now, all that mattered was something beautiful had happened between her and Santana.


	5. We'll Rewrite All the Wrongs - Pt II

**A/N: I didn't manage to wrap everything up in this part so there's going to be a Part III, which I've yet to write. Thank you all for your patience, thank you to my anonymous helper for the grammar lessons, and a big thank-you to my beta, MisAtentionSpan, who has been incredibly helpful with her comments. The translation of the poem can be found on my tumblr (turtleduckie).**

* * *

**We'll Rewrite All the Wrongs We Learned  
**_Brittany Pierce x Santana Lopez_

* * *

_Part II_

Brittany woke up the next morning to find herself alone on the bed. She called out to Santana but there was no reply. She sat up and looked around. The memory of the previous night rushed to her and she wondered if it was a dream.

She walked over to the mirror in her room and looked at her reflection. There, parading from below her jaw down to her collarbone was a line of hickeys. She touched her neck gingerly and she felt the insane desire to go to school for everybody to see.

For everybody to know that Santana did this.

(For everybody to know that she was Santana's.)

But she remembered that she told Santana she wouldn't tell. Well, that and how disapproving Coach Sylvester was of seeing hickeys on her Cheerios. She made the offenders do suicide sprints the entire practice.

Brittany sighed and made her way to the bathroom to wash up. She had already changed into her uniform and applied concealer to her neck but still no sign of Santana. Supposing that maybe she was already downstairs, Brittany took her backpack and was about to bid Lord Tubbington goodbye but she couldn't find him either.

Santana wasn't anywhere downstairs. Brittany made her way to the kitchen where her father was finishing his cup of coffee while reading the paper.

"Dad, have you seen Santana?"

Her father looked up. "She left a while ago, said she forgot something at her place and that she'll just meet you up at school."

Strange. Brittany knew that Santana was very careful with her things and would always prepare everything the night before. In fact, she always helped Brittany prepare her things, too.

"Are you feeling all right, Brittany?"

Brittany snapped out of her thoughts. "Yeah."

"Have some breakfast. There's still time before your morning practice, right?"

Brittany blinked. She couldn't remember the last time either of her parents had made her breakfast. Usually she would have to make her own, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms and a carton of milk. Or when Santana slept over, they'd make themselves some toast with blueberry jam.

But right now, there on the table was a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs and a glass of orange juice.

"Santana helped me make them. Or well, I helped her. She was up real early." Brittany sat herself down, just looking at the plate before her. "Said your morning practices tend to leave you guys famished." A long pause. "We've never talked much about these things, have we?"

The sad, almost guilty note in her father's voice made Brittany look up. "It's okay, dad," she answered automatically.

Her father just gave a wan smile. "Eat up." Brittany could feel a lump forming on her throat and she reached out for the orange juice to wash it down. She started eating, focusing all of her attention to chewing and swallowing.

Her father didn't say anything more, and Brittany finished her breakfast in silence. When she was done, she looked up and saw him looking at her with a thoughtful, melancholic expression in his eyes. "You've grown up and I didn't notice."

Brittany pressed her lips together as she felt her heart clench. Things she had carefully kept in one of those previously sealed boxes in her head were coming out. Her lips twitched and she willed herself not to open them for fear that words would come pouring out. Or worse, a sob.

"Come on, you'll be late."

Brittany followed him to the car. She thought that things had gotten back to normal since the drive was silent, like it has always been. But when she was dropped off at school, her father spoke.

"Have a good day at school, Brittany."

Brittany just nodded and quickly made her way to the track field. Santana was already there, talking to Quinn. But Brittany didn't approach them. She put her bag by the bleachers and just sat there, watching them.

Brittany wasn't sure of what she was feeling at the moment. It was like many different emotions were trying to fit inside her heart. She wasn't used to this, this cocktail of emotions that made everything more confusing than they normally were.

"Brittany!" Quinn called out. "What are you doing there? Come on over. Coach is arriving any second now."

It was like Quinn's words had warped as they traveled through the air, so that when they reached Brittany's ears, it took her a while to decipher them. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. One cycle, two cycles, three. When she opened her eyes, Quinn was standing near her.

"What's the matter? Are you feeling sick?"

Brittany just blinked. Then she noticed Santana standing behind Quinn, looking at her worriedly. Brittany forced a smile. "I'm fine," she said.

Quinn raised her eyebrow, unconvinced. She held out her hand. "Come on then."

Brittany took Quinn's hand and tried to stand up but her knees buckled, making her drop back down to the bleachers again. She frowned and wondered if her body has suddenly decided to stage a rebellion. She had seen it happen in a movie. She stared hard at her knees and tried moving them side to side.

"All right, you're going to the nurse's office now."

"But what about practice?"

"I'll just explain to Coach. You're obviously sick. Santana, why don't you bring Brittany to the clinic?"

Santana nodded. She came closer to Brittany, bending down to place Brittany's arm around her neck and putting her own arm around Brittany's waist. "Can you try standing up again?" she asked quietly.

Brittany didn't say anything but tried to stand. This time, she was successful, and with Santana assisting her, she made her way towards the school building. By the time they were in the still-deserted hallways, Brittany could feel herself regaining control over her body. She tried removing her arm from around Santana's neck, making Santana stop walking.

"Britt?"

"I'm feeling better now."

Santana looked at her dubiously, but carefully stepped away, letting her arm fall to the side. "Still, let's go to the nurse's office to be sure."

"Do you think somebody's gonna be there?"

The corner of Santana's lips quirked up. "Mrs. Lancaster's ancient. Either she's still at her house sleeping, or she's at the clinic sleeping."

"Then what's the point of going?"

"Well, you can lie down on one of the beds and just take a nap."

Brittany smiled. "You've done that before."

"Just once. Or twice. Or five times." Santana shrugged. "Don't worry though, I can pick the lock if she's not there."

The clinic was open, but just as Santana predicted, Mrs. Lancaster was dozing on her desk. They quietly sneaked into one of the curtained beds. Brittany sat down while Santana remained standing.

The whole place was so silent, so unlike during school hours when the whole place was teeming with students laughing, talking, starting a ruckus. It seemed like they were not in school. This, and the fact that they were surrounded by white, made Brittany squirm.

"You should lie down."

Brittany shook her head. "I don't want to stay here."

A pause. "Okay," Santana said. "Are you sure you're feeling better?"

Brittany's eyes fluttered close. The cocktail of feelings was still there, though no longer as intense as it was earlier. She tried breathing deeply again.

"Is there anything you need, Britt?"

"Just you," Brittany answered honestly. She opened her eyes and saw a tiny frown of confusion crinkling Santana's brows. "Can I have a hug?"

Santana hesitated. She looked at Brittany's face carefully, that same searching look that Brittany had seen a couple of times before. Brittany wondered what it was exactly that Santana was looking for. She wished she knew so that she could help Santana find it. But like all those times before, that look quickly disappeared.

Santana made a step towards Brittany and Brittany parted her legs so that Santana could stand between them. Santana took the hint and she stepped closer. In their current position, Santana was taller so she wrapped her arms around Brittany's shoulders. Brittany put hers around Santana's middle, holding her tight, while she rested her head against Santana's chest. Immediately, she felt her entire body relax, the now-familiar feeling of calm washing over her, that calm that she only found in Santana's arms.

"I missed you this morning," Brittany mumbled.

Santana didn't say anything. Her thumb began making soothing circles at the base of Brittany's skull. Finally, she whispered, "I'm sorry." She pressed a kiss against the top of Brittany's head. "I'm sorry."

Brittany wanted to ask 'For what?' but the lump in her throat had returned and she couldn't speak.

Instead she just let out the sob that she had been trying to suppress since breakfast.

**xxx**

The first dreams that she remembered were an explosion of colors, colors that she couldn't name yet, colors that resisted labels, colors that refused to bleed into her waking life. There were things too, she supposed, things which contained the colors, things tainted with the colors, but what she remembered most from those first dreams were the colors and not these containers, not these objects.

She remembered the red that wasn't like the red of her mother's lipstick, or the roses they have in the garden, or her favorite shoes that made her feel like she could fly. This red was all heartbeat and life and pulsated under her gaze. Then there was the color of sunlight, white light tinged with gold, elusive as a fairy or that balloon-spirit she was sure was tied to the wrist of every child. There was green, too, but not the green of the grass in any yard, any park, or the green of the stems, sepals, leaves of any plant, not even the green of her favorite cousin's eyes, which changed in the light. It was the green of Earth's essence, the green of summer, of life. And then there was blue that wasn't the blue of the oceans or the blue of the skies or the blue in her and her father's eyes. It was the blue of a lullaby sung in the night, the blue in her mother's touch, the farewell of each and every night when she would go to this solitary journey of dreaming.

These colors eluded recreation in any number of crayons. 32, 64, 128. Even if the crayon company managed to come up with a million colors packed in the small wax sticks, she doubted they could ever capture the colors she saw in her dreams.

There was magic in her dreams and magic could never be pinned down and packed up.

When she tried telling her parents about all this—tried and failed, with her limited five year-old vocabulary—they merely smiled and patted her cheek.

Somehow, she got the feeling that they didn't see, that they didn't understand.

Her dreams started to change shortly after that class assignment on dream journals. She had never really liked writing simply because words eluded her, just as the dream colors eluded names. And so instead of writing her dreams down, she illustrated them in the best way she could, despite the colors of the crayons being a poor substitute. As it turned out, she was no artist either, and her journal ended up looking a nasty waxy mess, possessing none of the beauty of her dreams, only the honesty of her attempt. It resulted in a scolding in front of the class, and even now, she could still remember the looks of pity and scorn on the twenty pairs of eyes, and anger and frustration on the pair that belonged to her teacher.

She remembered watching the lines on her mother's face grow deeper and deeper, on her forehead, between her brows, on the sides of her mouth as they both got called in more and more often to the principal's office. On days when her mother was indisposed, her father took time off his work to go with her. His face didn't become carved with wrinkles; his just became blank.

She didn't know what to do.

She began dreaming in washed-out colors, and it didn't take long when all the colors gave way to black, white and gray—like the one that appeared on the television screen when the reception was terrible. It was around the same time that she noticed that it was getting more and more difficult remembering things. It wasn't just dreams; she has been forgetting things like her lunch or how to tie her shoelaces or the date or even the sequence of days and months and the alphabet and the numbers. Curiously though, she did remember in vivid detail all the incidents that involved getting scolded for performing poorly in class, of getting laughed at for not being able to communicate her thoughts well, of getting pushed around and having her pigtails pulled, of all the terrible names flung at her face.

Now that her dreams were less of colors, she thought that at least now she could see what else was there, what she was doing, what she was surrounded by. But these dreams were just static and white noise. If she was lucky though, it would be the grayness of a heavy downpour.

It was on the fifth dream of this kind when she realized the magic was gone.

And it didn't take long for reality to catch up with the changes.

From the moment her little sister was born, she knew that everything had changed. Yes, there had been little changes before, but now, she realized that there would be no turning back. Her parents began lavishing more and more of their time and attention to the newborn, as the thought of her receded from her parents' minds.

But then two events led her to slowly regain dregs of her color-dreams.

The first was the class field trip to the printing press, where she had wandered off away from the group and closer to the machines that ate clean slates and produced sheets and sheets filled with frozen black ants, and sometimes colored images. As she was leaning over, a voice warned her to step away lest she get eaten by the machines too. When she looked around, there was a man wearing a blue jumpsuit who was standing over another huge machine on the corner. He smiled kindly and beckoned to her. She approached him and he showed her sheets of colored papers. She asked him what he was doing.

"Checking the colors."

She noticed that these sheets of papers all bore the same images. So she asked him why he had lots of copies of the same pages.

"Look closely."

She looked and saw that despite the similarity, there were slight, very slight differences in colors.

"It's very important to get the colors right, you see. That's why we keep on printing the same pages over and over again, adjusting the levels of yellow, cyan and magenta until what we have on the soft copy is the same as the printed one."

She asked him if the ones who commissioned the jobs were always so fussy.

"Not really, no. But I really like doing this kind of thing, because, who knows, somebody out there loves colors, too."

That made her smile. He then proceeded to show her a flipbook, opening it to the page where there were colored squares.

"Do you know that red won't always be red, or that blue won't always be blue?"

She frowned at that and asked what he meant.

"You see these colors here? This is our color guide. We check the prints with this to make sure we have our colors right. But we have to change these color guides every few years since they fade away with time. So you see, red won't always be red, and blue won't always be blue."

She wanted to ask more but at that moment, her teacher appeared, fuming. With a cursory nod to the printer man, her teacher grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her out of the printing room. She got a scolding and a half before they reached the gathered students at the front lobby.

Nevertheless, that night, she started dreaming of colors again, thin and watered down, yes, but still.

The next event was when her PE teacher offered to give her dancing lessons. This PE teacher just transferred to Lima that year and she had that bright look in her eyes that was a nice change from the dull and haggard look that her other teachers seemed to be wearing. The PE teacher led the class with enthusiasm and paid close attention to them as they cycled through sports and dance. It was right after the first dance meeting that the PE teacher set her aside to praise her dancing. She remembered how her chest warmed at those words, words that she rarely ever heard. And then the teacher asked her if she was taking any lessons and when she shook her head, the teacher offered to give them to her since she was also starting a dance studio. She nodded her head vigorously. Parental consent was easily obtained, and for the first time, she didn't feel it hurt as much when her parents' eyes just looked past her.

It was in the freedom of movement, the way her body took over, letting the pressure on her brain ease up just for these moments, that she started seeing colors more and more, and with them, a hope that she still possessed some magic.

Things have changed—though she now dreamed of colors again, these were only a faint memory of their vibrancy, vibrancy that she was starting to forget as well. Her parents have gone away to their own world with a daughter who was much less difficult to understand and deal with.

She didn't think that these changes were necessarily of a bad sort. They were just something inevitable.

Like an alien invasion.

**xxx**

Brittany's eyes fluttered open. It was still dark. She looked around for the time on her digital clock (the analog one always confused her, since she kept forgetting to add the number that the long hand pointed at by itself five times) and saw that it was only 2:58 AM.

She had been having trouble sleeping these nights. She didn't know if it was because Santana no longer came over, or if it was because she kept having these dreams of colors and of her parents.

(Dreams that seemed to have come from the now-unsealed box in her head.)

After that day at the clinic, Brittany had noticed changes. Not major ones, just small ones. Like how her father now made it a point to tell her to have a good time at school when he dropped her off. Or how her mother's gaze would linger on her for a second longer whenever she would chance to look at her. Or how Santana acted a little like before the party, but not quite.

Just a little guarded, and a bit too careful not to touch Brittany too much. Or spend her time with her too much (hence the dramatic decrease in frequency of their time together, i.e. sleepovers and chats in between classes—she was back to sneaking off again.)

These changes with Santana baffled Brittany and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why they happened. When Brittany brought it up one day as they were both standing by their respective lockers, Santana just said with forced nonchalance, "It's nothing, Britt. Nothing's changed."

"Oh. Okay." Then, after a beat, "When can we do it again?"

Santana froze. Her eyes darted around them and she swallowed before asking, "Do what again?"

"Do 'stuff'… take care of each other…" When Santana still didn't say anything, Brittany said, "Have sex—"

Santana banged her locker shut and turned to Brittany with wild, wide eyes. She grabbed Brittany by the elbow and dragged her to an empty classroom.

"San, what's—"

"Nothing happened that night, okay?"

Brittany furrowed her brows. "But something did. Don't you remember? I mean, you were there. I was there. And I can still remember what happened." Santana tried to cut her off again but Brittany didn't let her. She didn't know what this feeling was, this desperate desire to prove Santana wrong, to not let her erase that night. "I could tell you. We had dinner, talked about boys, laid in bed for a while and watched each other, and then we had sex—"

"It wasn't sex!" Santana finally snapped. "God!" She covered her face with her left hand.

"San…" Brittany tried to reach out to her but Santana flinched from her touch. She drew back her hand and just stood looking at her. The bell rang for the next period but neither of them made a move.

They were still standing silently when the noise in the hallways died down. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Santana spoke up in a quiet but deliberate tone. "It wasn't sex." She looked up and the corner of her mouth was lifted up. "Girls don't have sex with each other. You know that, Britt."

"I don't know, Santana," she mumbled. "It felt a lot like sex." She was losing the strength to barrel on. She never did like confrontations, and having one right now with Santana made her chest hurt. She just—she just didn't want any of those times with Santana to get wiped away, like it never happened. Especially not that night, when Brittany had felt something in her chest, something like a butterfly unfolding its wings—seemingly small to others but something big and wonderful to her.

She didn't get too many events like this in her life, and she wouldn't let anyone, not even Santana, take that away from her.

(But more than keeping this memory safe, she had hoped that Santana remembered, and felt the same thing, too.)

Then she spoke up, "If we don't call it sex, can we still do it again?"

"No." Santana's eyes were hard and unreadable. "And we're not going to talk about this ever again."

"But—"

"I said no! If you want to get off so badly, why don't you find a guy to do it for you?" Santana winced as the words came out of her mouth. But she held her ground, even as her jaw twitched.

Brittany just looked at her, the dull pain in her chest slowly sharpening around the edges until it felt like her heart was being stuck by needles all over. Then she said that one-word-reply that made everything go away.

(That one-word-reply that made her feel that she didn't have control and that she would have to pick up the pieces afterwards and try to fashion them into something she could live with.)

"Okay."

Santana's eyes lingered on her for a moment before she nodded stiffly. "Good."

Then she went out of the door, leaving Brittany alone in the empty classroom.

**xxx**

Brittany wasn't sure if these things were correlated but ever since that talk in the classroom, Santana was meaner than ever to people. At the slightest provocation, she would unleash her vicious, vicious words. Quinn was simply amused, and even said that Santana's rampage actually sped up and ensured the Unholy Trinity's control not just on the Cheerios, but on the whole school.

People are learning quickly not to mess with them.

But of course, that meant that the three of them have to stick together more often now, to solidify the image of the indivisible, dangerous trio.

Which was both relieving and a bit discomfiting.

The little changes in Brittany and Santana's relationship looked like they were here to stay, and these changes have conglomerated into a glass wall between them. Brittany wouldn't have been able to tell the difference until she'd try to get closer to Santana and she would hit this wall.

Everything else was the same between them: they still met up at the crosswalk, still chatted in between classes (though now with Quinn as well), Santana still came over to help her out with schoolwork (though she no longer stayed for dinner).

The terrible thing was that Santana acted like nothing had changed. That this was the way it had always been.

(Brittany thought of the book and she wondered if Santana had a book like hers too and if what was written there was different from what was in hers.

She hoped that this wasn't so.)

Santana had also began flirting around again, though she was usually seen with Puck. Whenever she saw them together, Brittany would feel that familiar twisting sensation in her stomach, now coupled with a slight sting in her chest. It would get especially bad when she would see them making out, and sometimes she would also feel heat pooling between her legs as she remembered how it had felt when Santana had touched her down there.

So it was only a matter of course that she began sleeping around again (despite the fact that what Santana had said really hurt her). Sex was still fun, it was still enjoyable, but somehow even as she tried to let herself get lost in the moment, just like in her date with Tom, she couldn't help but think of Santana every single time.

It didn't take her long to figure out that she wanted Santana.

(And Santana was wrong; it wasn't just for the sake of getting off.)

Brittany found that she wanted to learn Santana's body, this insatiable curiosity that she had never felt for anyone before. She wanted to know how Santana moved, how she sounded if touched at particular places in her body. Brittany wanted to know how Santana tasted when she came.

Brittany had a feeling that learning Santana this way was a key to learning more of her in general. Despite the fact that they've been friends for quite a while now, and have spent a lot of time with each other, Santana was still an enigma to her. Sure, Brittany knew that Santana liked baking, that her favorite subject was English, that she looked up to her abuela, that she loved bling, that she sometimes had this manic desire to rifle through drawers, that she was head-over-heels in love with the breadsticks at BreadstiX, that she hated Quinn but liked her as well, just like how she would do slight misdemeanors to rebel against her parents but craved their respect, too (why this was so, Brittany didn't know—but it fascinated her how Santana could feel seemingly disparate emotions together at the same time).

Brittany knew a lot of things about Santana but she didn't really know the thoughts inside her head, or the feelings inside her heart. Well, she knew some of them, but not all. She had first thought that by looking at Santana's eyes, she would be able to get a clue. It did, to a certain extent; Santana's eyes were expressive, which made them all the more beautiful. And the longer they've been together, the more Brittany was able to identify the emotions that flickered behind them. But even so, there was always that inscrutable wall behind which Brittany felt that Santana kept her deeper emotions.

Santana was as guarded as they come.

What sleeping with people had taught Brittany was that everyone's at their most vulnerable, at their most honest when having sex. It wasn't like they would break down and open up about their deepest, darkest secrets; it was more like they would let their body take over, and it was in the nuances of their reactions that Brittany would get a clear glimpse of what really went on inside of them.

Sex was first and foremost her way of getting to know people; the pleasure that came with it was just a close second. Which was why that one night with Santana and the subsequent rules had thrown Brittany off the loop.

(Santana's entire existence had thrown Brittany's life off the loop.)

**xxx**

"I'm going with Puck to the party tomorrow," Santana said, as she was closing her locker. "You?"

"I don't know yet."

"You can come with us, if you like."

"Puck won't mind?"

Santana laughed mirthlessly. "Oh please. He's too much of a sleazy douchebag to mind; he'd probably be cracking threesome jokes all the way."

Brittany paused and looked at Santana, who was now busy flipping the pages of her binder. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness as she recalled the Santana who was overly protective of her at the first party they went to together. Even now, Brittany still couldn't bring herself to reconcile the shift in their relationship, the change in her friend.

"Britt?" Santana looked up from her binder.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Brittany forced a smile. "I'll think about it."

Santana lowered her eyes for a moment, as if lost in thought. She looked at Brittany again. "How about that guy who asked you out before?" she asked, her tone just slightly lower and maybe just a little bit strained. "Tom Something?"

"He hasn't asked me yet, but I suppose I could ask him," said Brittany, shrugging.

"Or you could just give him a wink. That guy seemed pretty smitten with you."

Brittany couldn't help but notice the slight edge of bitterness in those words. But she didn't know what to make of this, so she just said, "Yeah."

"Just let me know tomorrow if you're joining me and Puck."

"Okay."

The bell rang and Santana smiled. "See you later."

"See you."

Tom Hunter (who Brittany had a little trouble recalling) was indeed still smitten with her and with just one look, he went over to her with that hopeful expression in his dark green eyes, and with one coy smile, he was offering to take her to the party.

When Brittany told Santana about this the next day, Santana narrowed her eyes and a muscle twitched in her jaw. "What an idiot."

Brittany looked at Santana, her brows creasing into a frown. "He's not."

"Yes, he is," Santana insisted, her lips curving up maliciously. "You two had gone on a date, what, a month ago? Then you blew him off and now, with just one beckoning gesture, he's back to licking your feet. That makes him an idiot."

"He likes me." It wasn't until the words were out of Brittany's mouth did she feel how much the fact actually meant to her. "He likes me," she repeated. "Is he an idiot for liking me?"

The dark menacing look on Santana's face disappeared in an instant. "What? No!" Brown eyes took in Brittany's expression before looking away. "Of course not." A long pause. "You're wonderful, Britt," she mumbled. She flickered her gaze back to Brittany. "Liking you is inevitable." She seemed to want to say something more but then thought better of it. She settled instead for "He's not an idiot for liking you."

And just for a moment, Brittany thought that she saw a glimpse of the old Santana.

"I'll see you at the party then," Santana said abruptly. Then without waiting for a response, she turned around and headed to her next class.

Brittany stood still for a while, not hearing the bell that signaled the start of the next period.

During the entire ride to the party, Brittany was lost in her own thoughts, particularly in the memory of the ride with Santana to the party they had gone to together. For a brief moment, Brittany thought that she should find it alarming how Santana had seeped into every corner of Brittany's mind, had leeched into every aspect of her everyday existence, and in so short a while. But she couldn't, not when Santana's coming into her life had been anticipated, that where thoughts and memories of her now reside in had been there especially for her.

It took only one look at Santana and Puck making out near the stairs, with Puck rocking into Santana, and the accompanying pang in Brittany's chest for her to leave Tom at the hallway and make a beeline to the table where the drinks were laid out.

Once her head was buzzing with alcohol and the image of Santana and Puck has been driven out of her mind, Brittany made her way to the dance floor. This was what parties meant to Brittany—alcohol, dancing, letting go.

She didn't know how long she had been dancing—she vaguely remembered dancing with Mike for a couple of songs, and then a couple more by herself, and maybe one or two with some people she didn't recognize. When she felt hot and thirsty, she took a break and went to cool down in the corner where there were less people. She scanned the room for something to drink when a red solo cup was offered to her.

"Here."

Brittany looked up and saw it was Tom and at that moment she felt guilty for leaving him alone. "Thanks," she mumbled as she took a sip. Tom just smiled, making her smile back.

"You were really great out there. I could spend the entire night just watching you dance."

"You've just been watching?"

Tom laughed. "Yeah. I have two left feet, you see."

Brittany frowned. She dropped her gaze to look at Tom's feet. "It looks like you have one left and one right." When she looked up again, Tom was wearing a look on his face, somewhere between amusement and indulgence.

It was an expression that was a step up from the looks of condescension she was used to getting, and it would have made her chest feel warm just for that fact alone.

But she had already experienced having someone look at her with awe, seriousness and respect, and none of that look that just plainly said _you silly thing_.

So she just shook her head and drank some more.

"Do you maybe want to head out now?"

Brittany knew that this was the code for sexy times, and normally, she would be saying yes.

(And logically, she should, since staying meant increasing the chances of seeing Santana with Puck.

But every fiber of her being wanted her to stay. If just to be in the same room with Santana. No matter who she was with.

Besides, Brittany had never been good at logic.)

"No, I want to stay."

Tom's face fell. "Oh… all right."

He looked so disappointed that Brittany leaned over to kiss him but something in the periphery of her vision caught her attention.

That something was Santana dancing.

Santana, who was owning the dance floor, grinding against some random guy, giving him, and actually everybody else her eyes landed on suggestive looks. This wasn't like the Santana from the first party and Brittany wondered if this was part of the new Santana, or just the drunk Santana that she hasn't had the chance to see yet.

Or maybe both.

In any case, it was really hot, and Brittany thought that she couldn't be blamed for leaving Tom behind (again) and gravitating towards her friend and getting in between Santana and the guy she was dancing with.

Santana didn't seem to mind, and it almost looked like she had been waiting for her as she smirked. Brittany took it as a good sign and she let her hands fall on the other girl's hips, pulling her closer.

"Hi," she said.

Santana, who had been running her hands up her own hair, thrust her hips against Brittany's. Her dark eyes were glazed and for a moment, Brittany was bothered. Santana was obviously drunk, and Brittany had been drunk so many times that she knew that usually being in this state led to questionable decisions. Sure, Brittany was buzzed right now, but with the way Santana was acting, the slightly uncoordinated movements and more-than-usual aggressiveness, Brittany knew Santana was way drunker than she was.

But then Santana was now putting her hands on Brittany's waist, pulling her so close that their bodies were flush against each other, and Brittany's brain was short-circuiting.

"Hi," said Santana, her breath hot and ridiculously erotic against Brittany's neck.

Brittany could feel something hot and heavy settle in the pit of her stomach. She shivered.

Then somebody hooted. "Give us a show, ladies!"

"Make out!" somebody else hollered.

Brittany blinked and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of something like relief cross Santana's face. But all this was driven out of her mind when she felt a hand at the back of her neck, urging her closer to her friend, until their lips met.

Brittany instinctively closed her eyes as she savored the feel of Santana's mouth on hers, her mouth that was soft and warm. She could taste the drinks that Santana must have been drinking all night, but when Santana slid her tongue inside her mouth, she thought that all she could taste was the unique taste of her. She felt her own hands drift up to Santana's back, pulling her even closer. She sucked on Santana's tongue then caressed it with her own, swallowing the moans that her friend was letting out.

But all too soon Santana pulled back and Brittany was jolted out of the blissful haze and back to the noise of the party. She looked at Santana, confused. Santana looked back at her and she suddenly looked more sober than before the kiss. She took another step back until there was a foot's distance between them.

"Shit, that was hot." Puck appeared behind Santana, wrapping his arms around her waist. He smirked, "Want to take this to the bedroom, ladies?"

Santana turned in his arms. "Don't be so cocky, Puckerman. You can barely handle me." And before he could come up with a smartass reply, she pulled him for a hard, bruising kiss. "Now take me out of here," Brittany heard her mumble.

Puck laughed. "Sure, babe. Whatever you want." And then they disappeared in the crowd.

A couple of guys had congregated around Brittany but she couldn't hear them. Still dazed from the kiss, and confused by Santana's abrupt dismissal, she just stood there. A hand was sneaking around her waist when she heard an angry voice saying, "Lay off her, man."

She blinked and looked around and saw Tom by her side. "She's mine." Turning to her, he said, "Do you want to go now?" She nodded and they made their way out of the house.

"Are you all right?" Tom asked when they were safely inside his car. Brittany just looked at him for a moment before climbing over the console and grabbing the lapels of his shirt to kiss him.

Thoughts and emotions were swirling inside her head but she didn't want to parse them yet. Not when hurt was one of them. All she could bring herself to address right now was the desire that had pooled between her legs.

They ended up fucking in the backseat of his car, still parked outside the party venue.

**xxx**

Brittany knew that the chances of Santana refusing to talk about what happened at the party were pretty high. But still, she had to know. Besides, many people saw it so Santana couldn't say it never happened or make it seem like it wasn't what it was. So on the Monday after the party, while they were walking to school, she asked, "What was that at the party, San?"

"What do you mean, Britt?" Santana was acting nonchalant, and Brittany felt her apprehension lessening.

"At the party, we kissed. What was that?"

Santana turned to look at her, a playful smile on her lips, which was at odds with the tense look in her eyes. "It was for show. Didn't you see? Those horndogs loved it."

Brittany frowned at the arbitrariness of Santana's actions. She honestly didn't have a clue as to what was acceptable and what was not anymore. Everything seemed to be subject to Santana's whims, and Brittany had to constantly revise things in her head. "I don't get it, San."

"Oh come now, Britt-Britt. You've seen girls make out at parties before, right? It's actually pretty common."

Somehow these words stung. Yes, Brittany had seen girls make out before; she had been doing it herself even before Santana. But it had never felt like it did with her friend. It had always been enjoyable, but it had never felt like the other person was holding her heart as they made out.

Brittany realized that it didn't matter if she and Santana talked about these things or not. Somehow, Santana would always find ways to downplay them, to make them trivial. And Brittany would rather keep these things to herself than have Santana devalue them.

So she didn't say anything more.

Santana must have noticed her silence since she asked hesitantly, "Didn't you like it?"

"Of course I did," Brittany blurted out.

"Good." Was that relief in Santana's voice? "'Cause, you know, we can keep doing it." Brittany blinked. Was Santana actually saying this? "I mean, for the boys," Santana added hastily. "It sets us apart, makes us hotter." She laughed and shrugged.

Brittany saw Santana tense up and she seemed to almost hate herself for saying these things. And yet, her tone had also that pleading edge to it. Brittany turned everything inside her head until it became plain to her.

Santana wanted this, wanted to do this with her, but—

"Okay," Brittany said simply.

But she needed a reason.

As Brittany realized this, she felt sad and at the same time hopeful.

(If she could give Santana a reason, then maybe that night in her bedroom could happen again.)

**xxx**

It soon became their thing, making out at parties, and sometimes during double dates.

(Tom had once again fallen to the wayside, as Santana insisted that Brittany go out with other guys. Brittany felt a little bad for dropping him since he was nice to her, but her current relationship with Santana was still on shifting sands and she didn't want to upset her.

And Tom seemed to upset her a lot.)

Slowly, Brittany found themselves going back to the way they were. Santana was still skittish at times, but she was again spending more and more time with Brittany.

Somehow, it felt like Santana was negotiating the boundaries of their friendship. Brittany honestly didn't see the point in this 'cause for her, there weren't any. But she supposed that doing this made Santana feel secure, so she went along with it.

There were a lot of things about Santana that puzzled her.

Like when they kiss or make out, for instance.

Brittany could always tell what the other person wants from her by the way s/he kisses, which was why whenever she let Santana's tongue slip into her mouth, she knew that this wasn't for show. She could taste the want, the desire in the way Santana sought something from her.

Whenever they kissed at parties, Brittany was always left feeling unsatisfied, and maybe a little bit unhappy. Their kisses there never really felt like theirs, since Santana always ended up with another guy, leaving Brittany to find her own to finish the want that these kisses never failed to awaken inside her.

She wanted to kiss Santana and have that kiss not to be for anybody else. She wanted a kiss that was just theirs.

**xxx**

During Christmas break, Santana swung by unannounced late one night. Brittany had already been in bed and was about to drift to sleep when she heard pebbles being thrown at her window. She got up and padded towards her window, pulling the curtains to the side. And there in the yard, she saw Santana all bundled up and poised to throw another pebble.

Brittany immediately unlatched her window and raised it up.

"San?"

Santana lowered her hand and stood still, staring at Brittany. Brittany noticed how Santana's expression softened as she just continued looking at her. Brittany felt her heart flutter and she smiled.

"San?" she called out again.

That seemed to shake Santana out of her haze and she started walking over to the oak tree near Brittany's window. Brittany watched her curiously as Santana stopped before the tree, warmed her hands with her breath, and then started to climb up. Brittany couldn't help the pleasant-discovery-laugh from bubbling out of her lips at the sight. And for the first time in weeks, she was seeing that side of Santana that reminded her of a little kid. She wondered if Santana did this a lot when she was younger, climbing trees and all.

In no time at all, Santana was crouching on the branch nearest Brittany's window. Her brown eyes were bright and she was wearing a goofy grin. "I still have it," she proclaimed smugly.

"Have what?" Brittany asked, still smiling.

"My scaling skills. I used to beat all the kids at my old neighborhood in climbing walls and fences and trees." Then she asked, almost shyly, "Can I come in?"

"Always." Brittany stepped aside from the window. With one lithe movement, Santana was on the sill and inside the room. They just stood silently in the darkened room for a while, just looking at each other and smiling.

"Not that I'm complaining, 'cause duh, you coming over is like the best thing ever but what brings you here so late?"

"I just missed you."

Brittany's eyes widened at such candidness. From the way things have been recently, she wasn't expecting anything like this from her friend.

(But then again, Santana was always full of surprises.)

Santana scratched her cheek, embarrassed. "I mean, it's been a while since I've spent the night here."

"You know you're always welcome here."

It wasn't a loaded statement at all, just Brittany stating a fact. But with the way Santana's face fell at the words, it almost seemed like an accusation. Brittany stepped closer and touched Santana's face with both of her hands. Her cheeks were cold and without thinking, Brittany kissed both sides.

"Britt…"

Brittany pulled back and smiled. "I'm just warming you up."

Santana laughed. "Well, I think getting under the covers would do the job just as nicely."

Brittany's heart thudded inside her chest. She swallowed and she bobbed her head in agreement. She went to her bed, sitting, as she watched as Santana walked over to her desk and began unwrapping the scarf around her neck and then removing her bulky sweater, then her shoes.

When Santana was only in her shirt and jeans and socks, she climbed over to Brittany's bed and flopped herself. Brittany laughed before laying herself down beside her friend.

Santana turned to her and smiled. "We went over to my abuela's earlier today, and had dinner there. And, you know, my parents were in a good mood, something that I rarely see from them nowadays, and I don't know… everything just seemed so perfect." Santana's eyes fluttered close and Brittany felt her heart warm at the sight of a happy Santana. She thought that her friend had fallen asleep but Santana spoke up again, though she kept her eyes closed. "Everything was perfect and yet I missed you." She opened her eyes and looked at Brittany intently, though without the searching look that used to accompany her gaze every time before. It was like Santana was looking at her just because.

(Brittany thought that that was the best reason.)

"It's like… it's like I want you to always be in my life." Santana's voice was so soft that Brittany almost didn't hear her.

But she did and she smiled. She leaned over and kissed Santana's nose, which Santana scrunched up, making Brittany laugh. "I want you to always be in my life, too."

"And I will be," Santana promised. "You're my best friend, Britt."

Brittany felt her heart stop. Sure, Santana had said these words to her before, but somehow this time they sounded different. Like these words were just the Christmas wrapping to something deeper. They sounded like a confession. So Brittany answered in kind.

"Yeah, me, too," she whispered.

Santana's eyes lit up and she snuggled closer to her. She wrapped an arm around Brittany's waist and it didn't take long for her to fall asleep, and for Brittany to follow.

When Brittany woke up the next morning, it was to the sight of Santana's serene face. Her friend's mouth was slightly open and she was letting out this soft snore. And because she was afraid that this could be just a dream, she reached over and touched Santana's cheek lightly with her fingers.

Santana shifted slightly at the contact but didn't wake up and Brittany just availed herself of this sight.

Despite her attempts to just savor this moment, she couldn't help but wonder if this was to be just a one-time thing, or if this was the start of a new chapter. It was just that Santana seemed to be shuttling back and forth between the old Santana and the new one and Brittany still couldn't understand why she had to split herself. Much in the same way as how she could be so nice to Brittany and so mean to other people. It was almost like Santana was afraid to show her true self.

(Which Brittany thought was a shame since Santana was the awesomest girl ever, and sure, Brittany may have at first wanted to keep this awesomeness to herself but now she just wanted everybody to know.)

And then there was still that very confusing physical aspect of their relationship. It always felt like they were tiptoeing on a very fine line, either sides of which Brittany couldn't make out. It should have been simple: Brittany wanted Santana and Santana wanted Brittany.

And yet, Santana still kept introducing all these rules and reasons that just messed things up. Brittany wanted to just do away all these and go back to the core of it all, but she knew what would happen if she tried: Santana would put some distance between the two of them.

So if what it took to keep Santana close to her was to abide by her rules and definitions, Brittany supposed she could do that.

(Being with Santana was worth anything.)

She had been staring at Santana for what seemed like an eternity before an idea struck her. She slowly detached Santana's arm from her waist and got up from the bed, careful not to wake her friend. Then she tiptoed her way downstairs and into the kitchen.

She found her parents there. Her father was reading the paper and her mother was looking at the pantry. When they noticed her, they both bid her a good morning, which, by now, Brittany had gotten used to.

(Even so, her heart never failed to skip a beat.)

"Do you want breakfast?" her mother asked. "I can make you an omelette."

Despite the fact that offers like this didn't come too often, Brittany just smiled and shook her head. "Santana's here and I'm planning on making her breakfast."

Her father raised his brows. "I didn't know she was here."

"Well, she sort of snuck up."

"Should've known," her father muttered, shaking his head but still wearing a smile. Before Brittany could ask him what he meant, her mother spoke up.

"What are you making?"

Brittany crinkled her brows in thought. "I was thinking of pancakes."

"Here you go, dear. Go make your girl some breakfast."

Brittany flushed. But she just shook her head and went to the counter where the mixing bowl and pancake mix were laid out. She didn't mean to say it out loud but before she could stop herself, she asked, "What's with you guys this morning?"

When a minute passed without hearing a response, Brittany turned around. She noticed that her parents' expression had turned a shade more serious, even though they were still smiling. Her mother walked over to her father and placed her hands on his shoulders. It was her father who spoke up.

"I guess… we just want to do right by you this time. We know we haven't been the best of parents for the past couple of years, but we're hoping it's not too late yet to make up for it."

Brittany felt the air get squeezed out of her lungs. She felt her insides turn to lead. She swallowed the lump in her throat and she turned towards the stove. She turned to face them again and noticing their worried, anxious expression, she plastered on a smile. "It's all right."

Her father cleared his throat. "This was going to be a surprise but I think it would be a useless kind of surprise if you didn't know how to, uh, drive, so what do you say you go to a driving school this summer so that you can get your license?"

The smile on Brittany's face turned real. "You're giving me a car?" She crinkled her brows. "Even when my sense of direction still kinda sucks?"

"Well, we're not exactly giving you a car as much as letting you drive the car," her father said jokingly, which sounded strange in Brittany's ears. "We think you'll learn."

"We're confident you'll learn," her mother seconded.

Brittany knew there were many layers to this, and she also knew that she should be happy with how things have changed with her family. Yet she couldn't shake the thought that their belief in her now came in exchange for years of forgetting (and she couldn't help but think of Santana and whose belief in her didn't come in exchange for anything). Still, some things were just a bit difficult to process right now. Especially since for the longest time she had taken how they had behaved toward her as the norm.

(And the seal on one other box in her head was starting to peel off.)

So she just smiled and said, "Thanks."

Her parents seemed to be placated by this and they just nodded. Brittany turned her attention back to the stove and prepared a pan and the pancake mix.

(Brittany had to ask her mother for help to crack the eggs 'cause she still didn't have the heart to do it herself—how could one tell the difference between eggs that have a chicken in it and eggs that have eggs in it?)

When Santana still hadn't come down, Brittany thought of just bringing the plate of pancakes and bacon up to her room.

Brittany was grateful that she thought of putting the tray down for a moment in order to open the door to her room, since she was greeted by the sight of her empty bed. She took a step back and looked at the bathroom at the end of the hallway and saw it was empty. Her heart began speeding up at the thought that Santana left her without saying anything.

"Santana?" she called out, her voice shaking slightly. She glanced at the window and saw that it was still shut. "Santana?"

"Here, Britt," came a sleepy mumble from somewhere near the bed. Brittany walked over carefully and found a curious sight.

Santana was lying on the floor between the bed and the window, curled up in the rectangular spot of sunlight.

"What are you doing down there?" Brittany asked, kneeling down beside her friend. She highly doubted that the floor was more comfortable than the bed. She should know, she had her days of sleeping on the floor, when she had been too tired from practice or that time when she had lost a bet with Lord Tubbington. Speaking of which, His Lordship was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you seen Lord Tubbington?"

"Yeah, I drove him away," Santana answered, not opening her eyes.

"Santana!"

"What?" Santana cracked one eye open. "I woke up and saw him lying all content in this puddly thing so I thought that there must be something here, you know?" She yawned and slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Besides, he stole my spot before. This is payback."

Brittany stared at her friend for a moment before bursting into giggles.

"What?"

"Puddly?"

"Shut up," Santana mumbled, embarrassed. "I can't be held responsible for anything I say when I'm newly awake."

Brittany shook her head and just looked at Santana, her chest warming at the sight.

Nothing made Brittany happier than seeing Santana just let go and be the little girl that she still was, that little girl Brittany didn't have the chance the first time around to see. If Brittany had her way, she would keep this side of Santana safe and never ever let it fade.

But she also knew by now that these moments when Santana was easiest to love were rare.

Now that Santana was fully awake and taking in the daylight, she was back to her serious self, slowly removing traces of her childlike behavior. She sat up straight and looked at Brittany.

Before Santana could say anything that might ruin the moment, Brittany said, "I brought you breakfast." She made a motion to get up but Santana stopped her.

"I'll get it. Where is it?"

"By the door."

Brittany watched as Santana stretched herself one last time before getting to her feet and padding over to the door. She felt a twinge in her heart at the thought that she still didn't know a sure way to make Santana just let go for good.

All she could do now was to file the memories carefully in her head. She would hold them close, especially this memory of Santana who slept in the puddle of winter sunlight.

**xxx**

Brittany didn't know if the impromptu visit had settled some things in Santana's head with regards to their relationship, but in any case, it had set a precedent and Santana would sometimes randomly drop by at night and come through the window, even when she could always go through the front door. It wasn't like she dropped by at ungodly hours because duh, they still have their morning Cheerio practice.

Brittany liked these by-window visits very much, and she could feel that Santana liked them very much, too.

(Sometimes Brittany wondered if they liked these visits for the same reason.)

Things were falling into place more and more and Brittany would like to think that how they were now was going to last.

(That didn't mean she stopped hoping for more, but she was kinda glad for a respite from the minefield that was them after that night they had not-sex.)

Santana had relaxed around her and sometimes even spent the night in her room. Brittany still kept Santana's clothes in her drawer, and her parents didn't mind seeing her at breakfast. Though Brittany often wondered if Santana's parents knew where she had spent the night, she didn't ask. Questions were mines and she wasn't eager to plant them now that they were apparently in a safe zone.

And then one day, something happened that made it seem like things _were_ getting better.

"My parents are going away for the weekend. Do you want to come over to my place?"

Brittany looked up from the magazine featuring cameras. Santana was lying on the bed, her back against the headboard, flipping idly through the _Seventeen_ magazine on her lap.

For a brief moment, Brittany wondered if she was just hearing things in her head. It wouldn't be the first time. Nevertheless, she answered, "Sure."

This time, Santana looked up and met Brittany's gaze. A small goofy smile played on her lips. "Awesome. I'll pick you up after lunch?"

Giddy with excitement, Brittany could only nod.

Saturday couldn't come soon enough and when the day finally came, after lunch couldn't come soon enough. Santana didn't talk all throughout the drive, letting Alanis Morissette fill the silence inside the car. Brittany didn't mind though; the prospect of finally seeing Santana's place was more than enough to unleash the butterflies in her stomach.

Despite having grown up in Lima, Brittany had never been to Lima Heights Adjacent. What she knew of it came from talks about how bad things happened there, and what she had seen before seemed to verify those assessments. The fringes of the area were lined with run-down establishments, some of which may or may not be crack-houses and hide-outs for gangs. Brittany felt a wave of apprehension come over her and she worried for a second about Santana's safety, how she must go through these places every single day.

"It's not really as bad as it looks."

Brittany, who had her face pressed against the window, turned to face Santana. Santana, keeping her eyes on the road, continued. "The exterior is just a front to keep people away. People here value their privacy."

Sure enough, the further in they drove, the better the houses looked until all around them Brittany saw mansions.

"Wow," she breathed. "The houses here are really pretty."

Santana scrunched up her nose. "Really? I think they're all ostentatious."

"Osten-what?"

"Pretentious." Santana took a left turn. Soon they came to a street with the biggest houses on the block. They stopped in front of a two-story mansion with a perfectly manicured lawn. "And here's the most pretentious of them all." Santana turned off the engine and began unbuckling her seatbelt. When she noticed that Brittany hadn't made a move to unbuckle hers, she asked, "What's wrong?"

Brittany just shook her head. "I don't get why it's pretentious. I mean, your family has the means to have this pretty house built, right? So it's not really pretending to be anything else."

Santana was silent for a moment. Then she spoke, "It is when you pretend that everything else is as pretty as it looks." Before Brittany could ask what she meant, Santana had opened the door on her side. "Come on."

Brittany didn't get to see much of the house, save for the kitchen which Santana went straight to, since Santana just practically pointed out the rooms without even bothering to go into them. It gave Brittany the impression that Santana wasn't comfortable with showing her the house. So she asked, "Do you not want me to be here?"

Santana grabbed two glasses and filled them with water. She set them down on the counter before turning to Brittany with a frown. "What do you mean? I asked you over."

"Yeah, but…" Brittany trailed off, not knowing what to say. Santana handed her one of the glasses, which Brittany took with a mumbled 'Thanks.'

Santana studied her for a moment before running her hand through her hair with a little huff of frustration. Somehow, Brittany knew it wasn't directed at her. "I'm no good with giving a tour or whatever. I've never brought anyone here." The last part was spoken in a softer tone. Which Santana quickly covered up with "Besides, there's nothing really great about the rooms here. Just the usual junk."

Brittany just nodded. What registered to her were the words that Santana hadn't brought anyone else here before. That Brittany was the first. Brittany felt the tips of her ears heat up.

"You want anything to eat?"

Brittany shook her head. "Nah, I'm good."

"Okay." Santana shifted. "Wanna go up to my room?"

Brittany couldn't help the big smile on her face. "Sure."

Santana's room was huge. And dark, with dark gray wallpaper all around. But the walls themselves weren't bare; a few abstract paintings hung on the wall and there was a poster featuring a man with dreadlocks and sunglasses on a green-yellow-red background above the bed. Brittany saw two figurines beside the bed and a sculpture she couldn't quite identify beside the cabinet. They made Brittany think of a museum, and she was pleased to find out about this side of Santana that liked artsy stuff. The bed was also huge, queen-sized, with deep russet covers and black pillowcases with fancy designs on them.

Brittany didn't know how long she stood there gaping when Santana coughed. "It's… it's a little messy and stuff. I tried to clean up but somehow things still find themselves on the floor." A pause. "And I know it's kinda dark and all; I just feel more secure with dark colors."

Brittany blinked at the embarrassed note on Santana's voice. Her face broke into a grin. "Are you kidding? Your room's awesome! I bet watching movies here is like watching in the theaters."

Santana smiled back, her shoulders relaxing in relief. "Yeah, well, it makes horror movies even more terrifying. You can sit on the bed," she added when she caught Brittany staring at it.

Brittany wasted no time in throwing herself on the bed and relishing the downy softness of it. "This is like floating in clouds!"

Santana chuckled, lying down beside her. "It makes it easier for me to just stay in bed for whole days on end."

Brittany paused as she took in Santana's words. Even if this was the comfiest bed in the world, she couldn't imagine staying here the whole day, with the somber colors shrouding her. She remembered what Santana said earlier, about dark colors making her feel secure, and how, in contrast, Brittany felt uneasy around them when exposed to them for long periods of time.

She realized with a jolt that she and Santana were different, so different from each other. She wondered how she hadn't noticed it until now.

"Britt?"

Brittany snapped out of her thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Nothing, you were just quiet."

"I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Colors."

Santana furrowed her brows. "What about them?"

Brittany felt something lodge in her throat as she remembered her dreams. She swallowed before replying with a forced smile, "They're pretty."

Santana narrowed her eyes and for a moment, Brittany worried that she was going to call her out on her obvious lie. But Santana just said, "They are."

Brittany blinked back the tears that were starting to well up in her eyes. She didn't understand it, didn't understand what she was feeling except for this feeling of gratitude for Santana not calling her out. She swallowed again. "Black and gray aren't colors you know."

Santana was silent. She reached over to hold Brittany's hand, lacing their fingers together. She then turned her face towards the ceiling. "I know."

The feel of Santana's hand in hers almost made Brittany tear up again. But she stopped herself and asked instead, "But you like them better than the color-colors?"

"I do."

"Even when you think color-colors are pretty?"

"Pretty colors are for good people," said Santana lightly.

Brittany frowned as she wondered whether Santana was just saying that for Brittany's benefit. She glanced at Santana's face and found her expression unreadable. Brittany squeezed Santana's hand. "But you are a good person. The bestest best in this world."

Santana laughed but to Brittany, it almost seemed like she was crying. "That's kind of you to say so but you don't have to." When she finally calmed down, she added, "I'm not good at all."

"Santana…"

"What do you want to watch?" Santana asked abruptly. She let go of Brittany's hand and sat up. "I've got Disney movies. You have a favorite?"

And just like that, Brittany knew that Santana had closed herself off once again. A part of her wanted to hold her again, to ask her why she thought she wasn't a good person. But another part of her knew that this wasn't the right time. She might not even be the right person to be told these things to.

(Brittany hoped the last wasn't true; or if it was, that she could change it.)

So she said, "_Lady and the Tramp._"

Santana smiled. "Got it."

Later on, when they were snuggled up on the bed, with Santana's laptop playing the movie, Brittany thought that this was okay. There were things they couldn't tell each other yet but holding each other close was enough for now.

When Santana fell asleep, Brittany carefully turned the laptop off and set it on top of her dresser. She went back to bed and laid herself beside Santana, who immediately curled into her. Brittany wrapped an arm around her waist, basking in her warmth. She placed a soft kiss on the exposed skin on Santana's nape. Santana let out a little murmur of appreciation. Brittany smiled and held her even tighter.

And she thought, yes, they were different, but what did it matter when they fit so well together.

**xxx**

Sleepovers at each other's place became a more frequent occurrence.

Whenever her parents went out of town, Santana would invite Brittany over to her place.

It would be a lie if Brittany said that she hadn't thought of the myriad of possibilities in a sleepover at Santana's place. But more than anything, she thought of how this was Santana opening up to her, showing her the place which had seen her at her most vulnerable.

When Santana proposed raiding their liquor cabinet one Saturday night, Brittany couldn't help the thrill of excitement that ran through her. She remembered that night at the party when Santana kissed her for the first time.

However, Brittany also noted how tense Santana was that night. How she seemed to be battling something within herself, how her eyes would flicker to Brittany when she thought Brittany wasn't looking, how her grip on anything she laid her hands on tightened every now and then until her knuckles turned white. Brittany would have asked her what's wrong but by now, she had learned it was pointless asking that question when Santana took pains to hide what she was feeling, especially from Brittany.

Santana went over to the cabinet and surveyed the contents. "What do you want, Britt?"

Brittany shrugged. She never really paid much attention to what she drank, though she preferred the fruity drinks. So she answered, "Anything with fruit in it."

Santana pursed her lips, her brows crinkling in thought. Then she grinned. "I got it. Planter's Punch?"

Brittany shrugged again. "I don't know what that is."

"It's got three types of juice and, well, three types of rum, and a dash of grenadine."

"Why would anyone put grenade in a drink? Isn't that poisonous? Or is that like the blowfish meal they serve in Japan?"

Santana chuckled. "Grenadine, Britt, as in the syrup made from pomegranate. Don't worry, you'll like this."

She began taking out some bottles from the cabinet. She went over to the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice, a bottle of pineapple juice and a tray of ice cubes. She reached over to a top cabinet to get a few more bottles. Santana took out a shaker and two glasses from another cabinet and rinsed them. She set all of these on the counter.

Brittany watched in fascination at the bottles filled with liquid of various colors—three of different shades of amber, one of deep orange-red, one of brilliant green, and one of pineapple yellow.

"This is Papi's favorite," said Santana as she began combining the liquids in the shaker. "He had this magazine which listed down all these drinks and how to prepare them. Seeing how Mami sometimes made drinks for when Papi brings over his hospital colleagues, I thought it practical to learn them myself." She smirked, "And it's just a happy coincidence that I liked drinking them, too."

As Santana prepared the drinks, Brittany couldn't help but think that Santana could be a pretty good bartender herself, that if she so wished, she could have thrown a party at her place and it would be a smashing success.

(But Santana seemed to be intent on hiding all the good things about herself; sometimes, Brittany had that nagging thought that Santana wasn't aware of these good things herself.)

When Santana finished pouring the drinks into the glasses, she grabbed an orange from the plate of fruits on the counter, washed it and sliced it. She garnished the glasses with a slice of orange each.

"They're missing a cherry and some mint leaves but these will have to do," Santana said as she handed Brittany her glass.

Santana sounded almost sheepish and Brittany didn't know why. She took a sip and the sweet citrusy taste of orange and pineapple mingling with the sharp edge of lime and the distinct undertones of rum exploded in her mouth. She grinned. "This is great, San."

"Don't I know it," said Santana, a pleased smile on her face.

Seeing Santana smile made the drink even sweeter.

Santana managed to introduce Brittany to three more drinks, including the peculiar Hot Toddy, before the buzz of the alcohol got to them. Santana had started giggling at the most random things and Brittany found her hands wandering towards Santana, finding every excuse to touch her.

They had settled on the couch, watching _Casablanca_ because Santana claimed it would "complete the experience of being fancy and shit," taking breaks when Santana would go to the kitchen to mix them a new drink. Brittany couldn't make herself focus on the movie, what with Santana so near and the alcohol buzzing in her head. All she knew was that she was happy, so as Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman were saying their goodbyes at the airport, Brittany shouted, "To fancy pajamas!"

Santana turned towards her with a grin on her face. "Fancy pajamas?"

"We're wearing pajamas and we're being fancy so I thought we should make a toast!"

Santana shook her head but she raised her glass nonetheless. "To fancy pajamas!"

Brittany clinked their glasses together before taking a huge gulp. "I loved the Bugs Bunny version better."

Santana giggled. "Yeah, that was nice. The way Bugs' face would twitch whenever he remembered—what was the cat's name again?"

Brittany shook her head. "Can't remember."

Santana giggled again before sighing. "Yeah, those were the good old days."

Now it was Brittany's turn to giggle. "You sound like an old lady."

Santana swatted her, offended. "I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

Santana lunged towards Brittany, pinning her to the couch, holding Brittany's hands above her head. "Take it back!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Take it back!" Santana leaned even closer until their faces were almost touching.

Brittany became aware all of a sudden of the position they were in. She was stretched out on the couch with Santana on top of her, their bodies pressed against each other that they could feel each other breathe, their faces so close that if Brittany just lifted her head a bit, she could kiss Santana.

She felt her face heat up at the thought.

Santana must have realized the same thing since her breath suddenly became shallower. Brittany wondered if Santana would pull back, laugh it off and pretend this never happened.

But Santana didn't draw back. She stayed still for a moment and Brittany watched those dark eyes turn even darker until they were almost black, watched them as they flickered to Brittany's lips.

Brittany couldn't take it anymore so she lifted her head.

Santana's lips stuttered against hers, soft and tentative, so unlike the kisses they have shared so far. Brittany cupped Santana's face with her hands to pull her closer, to press their lips harder until they parted and their teeth clacked against each other's. She opened her mouth to suck at Santana's lower lip before darting her tongue out to run over it, asking for permission. Santana let out a soft sigh and opened her mouth to let Brittany's tongue in. Brittany wasted no time in running her tongue along the inside of Santana's mouth, noting every crevice, searching for her unique taste from the remnants of the cocktails they had drank, in order to memorize it, to memorize that sweet taste that Brittany had always longed for ever since that night at the party.

And it was then that Brittany realized what drinking tonight was all about: a reason for Santana to kiss her with no one around.

(It broke her heart to think that, since she would have gladly kissed Santana, no reasons, no explanation needed.)

**xxx**

The _Casablanca_ night happened again a few more times, always with the safe excuse of alcohol. And Brittany learned two things about that night: one, she loved these sweet lady kisses very much; and two, she wanted more.

(Santana always made her want more.)

Sometimes Brittany wondered if things would have been easier had she and Santana grown up together.

Brittany knew enough that two girls kissing, like two boys kissing, wasn't common in Lima. Though two girls could kiss if they had an audience. But she also knew that sometimes two girls could kiss even when they were alone if they were practicing for boys. She remembered some senior cheerleaders talking about that in one of their team-bonding activities.

Had she and Santana grown up together, they could have had that excuse. But they didn't and both of them have kissed enough boys that practicing it seemed ridiculous.

Since that _Casablanca_ night, Brittany was determined to come up with reasons for her and Santana to kiss without resorting to alcohol.

(Truth be told, Brittany didn't like having to come up with reasons to do things.)

Brittany had thought about just telling Santana that she wanted to kiss her so it was okay if they did. But then she would remember that day in the classroom when she had almost said as much about them having not-sex, and the memory of Santana's words still made something inside her wither.

The morning after the _Casablanca_ night, Santana didn't say anything about what happened, nor act any different from any other morning. And Brittany learned the new rule then: if things happened when they were alone, they couldn't talk about it.

It left a bitter aftertaste in Brittany's mouth but if this was what it took to make Santana feel safe and if it meant that they could do it again, Brittany was willing to play along.

**xxx**

During these sleepovers, Brittany discovered one more thing about Santana.

Brittany had caught Santana singing only twice, but those moments were enough to confirm her hunch that singing was something Santana definitely loved. Her brown eyes would sparkle in the way that Brittany had never really seen in any other circumstances, the corners of her lips would lift up as if she found it impossible to not smile while she sang, her whole face would just light up like how the faces of people who were really happy would.

(Brittany found herself wishing discreetly in her heart of hearts that someday Santana would look like that when she looked at Brittany.)

But in these two instances, Santana had thought she was alone and Brittany knew that this wasn't something Santana just shared with anyone. This was something so sacred to her, something so intimate, that perhaps Santana only shared it with people she loved just as much.

Brittany wondered who these people were and if she could be one of them.

So one night, as they were preparing to go to sleep in Santana's bed, she asked, "Will you sing to me?" Then after a few seconds of silence, she amended, "I mean, something in Spanish? I think Spanish sounds really nice and I was wondering how Spanish songs sound."

Santana's eyes drifted towards her and stayed there in the space of three heartbeats before looking away. "No."

"Oh. Okay." Brittany swallowed the lump of disappointment in her throat.

After a few seconds, Santana let out a sigh. "How about I just recite a poem for you?"

Despite the fact that this wasn't what Brittany had asked for, this was still something new for her. Like a piece of Santana she didn't have yet. The smile returned to Brittany's face and she nodded eagerly. "What poem?"

"It's something by Neruda, and it's about his native Chile, but…" Santana trailed off. Brittany waited for her to continue but she didn't. Instead Santana's brown eyes became hazy as she got lost in her thoughts, thoughts that Brittany still wasn't privy to.

Brittany felt something pinch her heart.

"San?"

"Oh right. Let's lie on the bed."

Brittany nodded and laid herself down, with Santana joining her shortly. When they have drawn the covers up to their shoulders, Santana rolled over to face Brittany.

"'Quiero que sepas una cosa,'" Santana began, the words rolling out of her tongue with rhythmic cadence. "'Tú sabes cómo es esto: si miro la luna de cristal, la rama roja del lento otoño en mi ventana…'"

Brittany's eyelids fluttered close as she let Santana's low and raspy voice take her away, into a place of warmth and safety. She wondered briefly if this place was somewhere she had been to before, maybe back when she still dreamt of vivid colors. Or maybe this was a new place, a place that Santana was offering up to her.

"… Ahora bien, si poco a poco dejas de quererme dejaré de quererte poco a poco." Brittany noted the layer of coldness that coated Santana's voice, a layer so chilling that it almost seemed like a threat… a threat that cut both ways, for there was also something so breakable in the barely noticeable way that Santana was keeping her voice level. It made Brittany think of the thin ice that covered the duck pond, which she was fond of frequenting, in the winter. "Si de pronto me olvidas no me busques, que ya te habré olvidado…"

"… Pero," Santana's voice changed yet again. Her tone now was softer, gentler, both hopeful and shy, and Brittany felt warmth flooding her heart again, like the sun had broken through the thick, gray clouds. "Si cada día, cada hora, sientes que a mí estás destinada con dulzura implacable, si cada día sube una flor a tus labios a buscarme…" Santana scuttled closer, her hand curling behind Brittany's neck and her lips whispering the remaining words against Brittany's forehead: "ay amor mío, ay mía, en mí todo ese fuego se repite, en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida," Santana pulled back a little so that she was looking at Brittany's eyes and Brittany felt her breath catch at the sight of such pure emotion, such open vulnerability in those impossibly dark eyes. "Mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada, y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos sin salir de los míos."

As the last syllables echoed away, Brittany said, "That was beautiful, San." Then after a beat, "That was a love poem, wasn't it?"

Santana hesitated, but only for a moment. "Yeah," she admitted quietly. "It's a love poem for his homeland."

"But it's also a love poem for a person, right?" Brittany saw Santana swallow, as her face darkened into a flush. Brittany could feel a denial coming from her lips, so she hastily added, "It's like that Madonna song in 'Evita,' right? Dad said that that song worked in two levels—first, for the people of Argentina, and second, for her husband…"

Santana was silent for a while. Finally, she asked curiously, "What was that song?" Brittany just looked at her for a moment. Santana's eyes widened as she realized what it was. "Oh."

Brittany saw many emotions ripple across Santana's eyes, too fast for her to decipher, but which didn't stop her from marveling yet again at this girl in front of her who felt too many things at any given time. It had always been a question to Brittany, for she could only feel one or two feelings at a time, how it would be to have such a seemingly perpetual cascade of emotions.

When Santana didn't speak anymore, Brittany whispered, "Can you speak to me in Spanish until I fall asleep? I really like hearing you speak."

Santana's eyes lingered on her for a moment before she nodded. "Okay." She began speaking in Spanish again, and Brittany guessed that these were poems. She didn't understand a word but she only needed the familiarity of Santana's voice to guide her to sleep.

The next morning, Brittany was woken up by the faint sound of somebody singing. She would have been content to just let the sound lull her back to sleep but even in her still sleepy state, she realized that it came from just within the room, and there were only two people in the room, her and—

Santana was sitting by the window sill, her face turned towards the view outside, making the pale golden light of the early morning highlight the profile of her face. Brittany thought that she never looked so beautiful.

(Which was a lie. Santana was always so _so_ beautiful.)

Once Brittany had gotten over the sight before her, she strained her ears to listen to the sound that had awoken her. It was definitely Santana's voice—alternately humming and singing the words to a song that Brittany had heard on the radio once or twice before.

"_Bésame, bésame mucho, / Como si fuera esta noche la última vez, / Bésame, bésame mucho,  
Que tengo miedo a perderte, perderte después…_"

Brittany felt her face warm even as she didn't understand what the song was saying. But the slow tempo and the soft, tender way Santana was singing it made Brittany think that this was definitely a love song. Not for any country, but for a person.

_"Quiero sentirte muy cerca mirarme en tus ojos verte junto a mí / Piensa que tal vez mañana yo ya estaré lejos, muy lejos de ti…"_

**xxx**

Towards the end of the school year, nothing much has changed. Santana still hung around Puck, though thankfully they weren't sucking faces in the hallway as often. Brittany remembered what Santana said before, about nabbing man-candy since Quinn had her eyes set on Finn Hudson. Brittany had been feeling this heavy weight at the pit of her stomach at the sight of them together, but somehow, the thought that Puck and Santana were an item made that weight even heavier until she couldn't stand it.

(Especially since she and Santana have been sharing sweet lady kisses.)

One day, as she and Santana were getting their books from their lockers, she asked, "Are you dating him?"

"What?"

"Puck. Are you dating him?"

Santana gave her a queer look before responding. "Not right now, no."

Brittany tilted her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Santana looked away and began taking out her books. "We're on a break."

Brittany felt the weight lighten a bit. "Why?"

"He wants to get his mack on elsewhere, and so do I."

Brittany's heart thudded in her chest. Was Santana referring to what they had been doing during sleepovers? She swallowed. "But you two are getting back together in the future?"

Santana gave a careless shrug. "Maybe. Depends. As I've said before, if no one better comes along." She glanced at Brittany and her expression softened a bit. "He's just a good status symbol and a decent lay; he doesn't mean anything."

_Unlike you_, Brittany could almost hear those unspoken words in her ears.

"Oh, I have something for you." Santana took out a small box from her locker and handed it to Brittany.

Brittany took it and when she opened it, she found two matching silver bracelets. "These are—"

"Friendship bracelets," Santana finished. She ducked her head for a moment. She cleared her throat and looked back at Brittany. "I know it's a bit lame or whatever, wearing friendship bracelets, but I just want us to have something to remind us that we're best friends."

"It's not lame," Brittany rushed to say. "I think they're beautiful."

(Suddenly she remembered all the times when Santana would show off bling some guy bought for her, saying free bling was all these stupid boys were really good for.

And how this, Santana buying them friendship bracelets, was nothing like that at all.)

Santana smiled, relief evident in her eyes. She took one of the bracelets and fastened it on Brittany's left wrist. After setting the box down in her locker, Brittany did the same, wrapping the bracelet around Santana's right wrist. She paused and stared at their wrists, their skin color providing contrast but their matching bracelets affirming that they were a two-shot. "They're really beautiful," she breathed.

Santana chuckled. "You already said that."

"But it's true."

"Whatever," said Santana, looking away to hide her face. She cleared her throat again. "Come on, we'll be late for class."

When Santana extended her right hand with all the fingers curled save for her pinky, Brittany instinctively linked her own pinky with Santana's.

Together, they walked down the hall, pinkies linked and their silver bracelets glinting.

**xxx**

When Brittany would think back to that summer after their freshman year, all she could remember were blue skies, green fields, orange sunsets and Santana.

She wouldn't be able to recall the mandatory summer cheer camp nor the driving lessons she had to take to get her license, despite the fact that when put together, the times she had spent in these activities were far more numerous than the times that she was able to spend with Santana alone.

(Which, in retrospect, she was inexplicably grateful for—the summer camp had made her uneasy, and she had vague recollections of feeling something crawling under her skin, something twisting her gut, and of catching Coach Sylvester's eyes linger on her for a brief second longer.)

She and Santana met up on those days where they weren't required to be anywhere else, and eventually, Santana just spent the nights at the Pierces'. It was like a throwback to the early days, although this time it was better. There was no school to worry about in the morning, or assignments to work on in the evenings. They could just spend the whole day together, doing whatever it was they decided on in the morning.

One day, they decided to go to the ice cream parlor and score some free ice cream. To make it more interesting, Santana proposed that they charm the guy at the counter separately and get the ice cream flavor that reminded them most of the other.

"We'll know what we think of each other plus we'll get some free ice cream. Total win-win," said Santana, grinning. "I'll go first, but we'll show each other what we've got at the same time, all right?"

Brittany nodded her head excitedly. She watched as Santana went over to the counter, her eyes naturally gravitating towards the sway of Santana's hips. She was so caught up with her leering that she didn't notice that Santana was already done.

"Easy-peasy. Your turn, Britt-Britt."

Brittany gave a start and was surprised to see Santana standing before her. "That was fast."

"Yeah, well, apparently that beanstalk doesn't get much action at all. Nearly creamed himself when he caught a glimpse of the twins," Santana rolled her eyes. "I say don't go all-out or he might explode on the spot and you won't get your ice cream."

Brittany laughed. "I won't."

Like Santana said, it didn't take much to get the guy at the counter to give her the ice cream for free. Brittany felt a bit sorry for him since he would obviously have to pay for her and Santana's ice creams so she beckoned him to come closer and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said as the guy leaned against the register, looking like he was seconds away from fainting.

When Brittany went back to her and Santana's table, Santana said, "I told you not to go all-out; now he won't be able to do his job properly."

Brittany shrugged, "I think it's only fair he gets a kiss since he's technically buying us our ice cream."

Santana just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well."

"So, on three?" Brittany couldn't fight the grin on her face.

"On three."

"One two three!"

They both set the cups of ice cream on the table, pushing the one they got towards the other. When Brittany saw what Santana got for her, she felt something flutter in her chest. The ice cream was the color of buttermilk with red bits and dark golden syrup swirled over the top. She took the wooden spoon and dug in. Her eyes widened when she tasted buttermilk pancakes and candied bacon. She grinned. "Is this…?"

"It's—it's _Maple Bacon Pancakes_, because you mentioned you liked breakfast and dessert so…" Santana trailed off, and she ducked her head.

The grin on Brittany's face transformed into a soft smile, her heart warming at the thought that Santana remembered.

"Santana, thank you."

Santana snuck a glance at her. "No need to thank me, it's free," she mumbled.

Brittany laughed before leaning over to press a kiss on Santana's cheek, longer and with more pressure than the one she gave the guy at the counter. Before she pulled back, she felt Santana's skin heat up on her lips. When Brittany had settled back to her seat, Santana still looked frozen in her seat.

For a brief moment, Brittany panicked and she wondered if it was all right that she did that, or if Santana had some rules about kissing on the cheek in public.

But a smile slowly spread on Santana's face, making her dimples appear. After a few seconds, she tried to fight it back but failed miserably. She then settled to sucking her lips into her mouth but even that couldn't wipe away the obviously pleased look on her face.

Brittany just laughed again. Then to give Santana a break, she said, "You haven't said anything about the one I've picked out for you."

Santana's eyes widened. "Oh right, sorry." She looked at the cup of ice cream in front of her carefully before digging in.

(For a moment, Brittany thought how symptomatic this was of their relationship: Santana forgetting herself when she was doing something for Brittany. It made Brittany a bit afraid that it would lead to Santana not seeing what was in front of her, what was hers all along.)

"Mmm, what is this syrup?" Then Santana chuckled. "I hope the dark chocolate isn't an obvious allusion to my skin color."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "No, it isn't." She cleared her throat. "It's called _Flowers and Chocolate_, and it said in the description that it had rose petal syrup so I thought it was perfect."

Santana tilted her head to the side, her brows crinkling. "How so?"

"Because when I think of roses, I think of hearts and dark chocolate is good for the heart." When Santana's look of confusion didn't disappear, Brittany continued, "I think you have a very big heart, Santana."

Santana stared at her. Then, Brittany noticed that her cheeks darkened. Santana looked away and focused on her ice cream. "You're still saying that?" she said softly.

"And I'll keep on saying it until you believe it."

"Brittany," she sighed. "You shouldn't be saying all these things or I won't—" she stopped short then she shook her head. "Never mind." She met Brittany's eyes again. "You're amazing, you know that right? And crazy-smart."

"You're not just saying that because of what I said?" Brittany teased. Santana scrunched up her nose, making Brittany laugh. "I agree with the crazy part, though."

"I meant the smart part more," said Santana in a quiet, serious tone.

She was about to dispute Santana's statement but then she realized that they were alike in this aspect: there were things about themselves they couldn't believe were true, and which only the other could see.

Brittany felt something squeeze her heart. She just smiled and resumed eating her ice cream.

On another day, Brittany invited Santana to have a picnic at the place where she has her motocross practice. It was too bad that she couldn't show Santana the actual practice since the old man who oversaw her training was away on a road trip that summer. Still, Brittany thought it would be a nice thing to show Santana the place.

(It was like showing Santana a part of her world.)

To get to the place, they would have to pass a couple of fields. As much as Brittany loved the place itself, she loved the getting there part as well. She loved the contrast between the clear blue sky and the green grassy fields. They made Brittany think of something pure and infinite.

And she thought that maybe Santana got the same impression too since she was quiet during the ride, looking out of the window for most of it.

(She had let Brittany drive her mom's—well, now it was _her_ car since she had turned sixteen and gotten her license. Brittany couldn't adequately express how much it meant to her that Santana trusted her enough with her car even when Brittany had just started learning how to drive.

It seemed like all the belief she couldn't put in herself, she put in Brittany.

The thought made Brittany sad.)

"Holy crap, is that a _goat_?"

Brittany glanced at the side of the road nearest to Santana. "Yup, that's Graham. He's the part-time gatekeeper and my full-time cheerleader. Be careful when you get too close to him though; he tends to eat anything he can reach. Last time, he ate my algebra homework."

"Wow, this place is so…" Santana gestured with her hands as she tried to find the right words.

"Charming?" Brittany supplied.

"Not quite the word I was looking for but I guess it is. Kind of. In some angles. Maybe when you squint."

Brittany laughed. "Oh come on. I know you're loving this place."

"Will neither confirm nor deny."

"I bet by the end of the day, I can make you admit that you love this place."

This time it was Santana who laughed. "Well, do your best."

"You can be sure I will." Brittany slowed down as they neared a two-story wooden house with a sycamore tree growing in the unkempt front yard. "We're here."

"Wow, this location is like straight out of a horror movie." Santana unbuckled her seatbelt when Brittany turned off the engine. "And it's in the middle of nowhere. How do you even get here?"

"Well, Fuzzy gives me a ride. On Saturdays he goes grocery-shopping so I just meet him at the store. He has this really old pick-up truck that makes all these rickety sounds, and when the radio works, he plays some country music."

"Fuzzy?"

"Yeah, that's what I call him. He kind of reminds me of Fuzzy Lumpkins, except less pink and angry."

"Are you sure it's safe though? I mean, for all you know he could be a serial killer. And it wouldn't be too difficult for him to hide your body seeing he lives in the middle of nowhere."

"I trust him," said Brittany simply. Santana shot her a wary look. Brittany smiled. "You forget I have good people-sense. I mean, you're all the proof I need."

She held Brittany's gaze for a moment then her expression softened. "Well, if you say so."

Brittany grinned. "Come on, I'm famished."

Santana carried the picnic basket, waving away Brittany's offer to hold it and insisted that Brittany just lead them to the picnic spot. Brittany shook her head at Santana before making her way towards a small hill which she knew overlooked the dirt trail where she practiced. They settled on a well-shaded grassy spot near a tree. This time, when Brittany attempted to unpack the picnic basket, Santana didn't stop her. Before long, they had everything set up and the food—consisting of strawberry tarts, roast beef sandwiches and blackberry cheesecake pie—all laid out.

They didn't talk much as they ate, which Brittany didn't find weird at all, unlike all the other times with other people when she felt pressured to fill the gaping silences and which usually ended up with her blurting out something random, like opera houses and platypuses. In fact, Brittany enjoyed this kind of comfortable silence, almost as much as talking with Santana.

When they had finished eating, Brittany pointed out the dirt trail down below and described to Santana how her motocross practices usually went, to which Santana listened with rapt attention.

"I really should see it sometime then," said Santana, when Brittany finished.

"Yeah. I would love that." Brittany didn't mean to say the last part out loud but when she saw Santana smile shyly, she just smiled back.

Eventually, Santana sat herself by the tree, leaning against the trunk and looking at the horizon. Brittany thought of joining her and resting her head on Santana's lap but hesitated. Instead, she just laid herself down on the blanket and watched the sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves above her. The wind was nice and the air was full of sweet summer scents—the smell of blossoming flowers, woods and the grass. The high-pitched drone of cicadas and the soft chirping of the birds mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves lent the afternoon a lazy air and Brittany promptly fell asleep.

When she woke up, the blue sky had already changed to the melding gold and orange of sunset. She blinked as she remembered remnants of a dream of whispery touches on her hair. She sat up and looked around her and saw Santana still sitting by the tree, looking at her.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep. I was supposed to show you some other places like this pond further down but it's too late now."

Santana shook her head. "It's all right."

Brittany stood up and stretched some more. "Did you sleep?"

Santana shook her head again. "No."

"Oh." Brittany frowned. "Well did you go someplace else while I was asleep?"

Santana smiled before shaking her head yet again. "And what, leave you to the mercy of the wild beasts?"

That made Brittany laugh. "The only wild beasts here are the birds and insects."

"Well then I was guarding you from Rumpelstiltskin."

Brittany tilted her head to the side. The name sounded familiar but she couldn't place it. "Rumpled silkscreen?"

"Rumpelstiltskin. He's this dwarf who makes bargains with girls with beautiful golden hair. I was afraid he'd come after you."

"Oh." Brittany now remembered the fairy tale. She remembered her dream and felt something soft and fluttery in her chest. "Did he?"

"Nope," said Santana, shaking her head.

Brittany grinned and walked over to her. "Well, you do make a pretty good guardian." She sat herself beside Santana, resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "Thank you for looking after me."

"Look out for," Santana corrected. "You don't need looking after, Britt. You're capable of that yourself."

Brittany thought 'not quite' but she smiled nevertheless, and snuggled closer. "Thank you for looking out for me."

There was a pause before Santana whispered, "You're welcome."

They stayed like that for a couple more minutes before Brittany remembered something. With much reluctance, she lifted her head from Santana's shoulder. "Let's go back to the house."

"You want to go home now?"

"No, I mean Fuzzy's house. I gotta show you something."

They packed up the picnic basket and made their way down the hill. All around them was bathed in a soft golden glow. Brittany had seen this many times before and each time, she thought it was beautiful. But for some reason, today it seemed even more so. She could feel her insides tingle with this inexplicable feeling. It all felt too much and she grabbed Santana's free hand, tangling their fingers together. The feeling didn't ease but somehow became more manageable. Santana held her hand with a warm, firm grip.

When they arrived at the wooden house, Brittany led the way to the back of it where an old tire swing was hanging under a tree.

"Wow," Santana breathed. "I haven't seen things like this in ages."

"I know. I think it's a shame. People should have one like this at their houses."

"Does Fuzzy have children?"

Brittany shook her head. "I actually made him make this."

"Oh?"

"One of his tires blew out on our way here and I suggested that he make a tire swing because swings make everything better. Like you could swing yourself and feel like you're flying." When Brittany turned to face Santana, she found her smiling. "Get on," Brittany said, tugging Santana towards the swing.

Santana's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before she shook her head. She let go of Brittany's hand. She set the basket down before settling on the swing. Brittany went behind her, taking hold of the ropes holding the swing. "Ready?"

Santana nodded and Brittany took a few steps back then pushed the tire. Santana let out a little shriek as she glided up in the air and then back to the ground. Brittany pushed the tire again.

Brittany couldn't help but lose herself in the moment, of watching the fading sunlight on Santana's hair, giving it a golden outline, of the pleased sounds that Santana made as she went up in the air, of just the sight of Santana being free.

When Santana had her fill of swinging, she planted her feet back on the ground. She twisted around so that she would face Brittany. Brittany held the ropes again to keep the swing from spinning. Santana was wearing a huge grin on her face, her eyes burning with such giddy delight. Brittany thought that she had never seen Santana this happy.

"Great, huh?"

"The greatest," Santana agreed. "Your turn?"

Brittany shook her head. She was about to say something but the words disappeared on her lips and she just stared at Santana. And Brittany realized once again how beautiful Santana really was.

So beautiful.

And it just seemed right at that moment to lean over. Santana rose from the swing to meet her halfway.

The moment their lips met, Brittany knew that this kiss was different from the ones they have shared previously in so many ways. Santana's mouth was soft and yielding and there was no trace of hesitation or desperation. It was so natural, like the sun setting or the wind blowing.

A kiss that happened just because.

They went on kissing with just their lips, Brittany's hand cupping Santana's face just to feel the warmth on her cheek, In the same manner, Santana held on to Brittany's other hand which was still holding one of the ropes. She didn't grip Brittany's hand, holding it just so, like she just wanted to touch her.

Brittany hadn't kissed or been kissed by anyone like this before. No kiss had been this soft and sweet and sure.

(The sweetest of all sweet kisses.)

When they finally pulled away from each other, the sun had already set and evening with its crepuscular charm had set in. Brittany's eyes fluttered as she felt her lips tingle. She licked them to taste the remnants of the kiss.

Despite herself, she timidly looked at Santana. What she saw made her heart stop for a moment.

Santana was wearing that look. The look she wore whenever she was singing, that lambent glow in her eyes and the soft smile on her lips. It was a look of infinite tenderness.

Brittany felt her face heat up and her heart suddenly started pounding in her chest. She was filled with this overwhelming desire to hold Santana close, to never ever let her go. All of a sudden, she was seeing it again, the colors that she thought she had lost forever: the deep brown of Santana's eyes that was neither mocha nor mahogany after all, just _Santana_; the pale bluish light of the early evening that coated Santana's face, soft and muted, more a wordless sigh made visible; and the moonless night in Santana's hair, not black, no, but a combination of colors in the darkest end of the spectrum—almost but not quite. Almost like the depths from which no one, nothing, not even light can escape, but not quite.

(Brittany's heart fluttered at the thought that she could be the light that wouldn't be swallowed in.)

At that moment, Brittany knew with certainty that she couldn't bear to be without this girl for the rest of her life.

She was in love.


End file.
